Band of Brothers
by Night-Mare-Chan
Summary: A story of Marauders...from the beginning to the very end.
1. Prelude: James

(Author's Note: Some of you may have seen this under the name of Notcurne Equuis. That is my other name, but I've decided to put all the fanfics that I have together. If you know latin, Nocturne Equuis means Night Horse...aka Night Mare. So don't think I'm plagerizing or anything.)

Band of Brothers_  
Prelude_  
_**Chapter 1**  
_**James**

**

* * *

**

The broomstick rotated gently in the shop window. The tip of the handle was capped with silver, then swept down long and black down to the bristles. These were black as well, but with a few silver twigs woven through it. James glanced down once more at the card resting directly below the broom.

_The Shooting Star_

_Functional as well as beautiful, the Shooting Star _

_adds a whole new dimension to Quidditch. Not only_

_is it faster then any other broom available, its sleek_

_design allows better turns and heart-stopping dives._

_Also comes equipped with an innovative new_

_cushioning charm for comfort and nearly unbreakable_

_braking!_

_For price, inquire inside._

James smiled dreamily, inching pressing his nose to the glass to see the broom better. Even _half _of those features would make it better then the old 'Lil Bristle he had at home. That was a kid's toy…didn't even go more then two inches off the ground. This was the real thing. Real Quidditch players used it. Mum probably had one of these right now. He could just picture her zipping along on one of these things, quaffle tucked under her arm, long black hair streaming behind her as she breezed past all the other players to the three hoops at the end of the field. Suddenly the image of the broom became foggy. James took only a moment to wipe it clean with a sleeve before pressing his nose to the glass again. What he wouldn't give to have a broom like that. Sure, first years weren't technically allowed to _have _brooms…but at least he could practice.

Suddenly a hand clapped on his shoulder and a shriek tore out of him before he could stop himself. He twisted his head up and found an elderly wizard wearing an old beaten up hat smiling down at him.

"Thought I would find you here," the man said, brown eyes twinkling. "If you thought any more about Quidditch you'd turn into a broomstick." James stuck his tongue out at his grandfather's gentle teasing, and then turned back toward the shop window.

"Isn't that neat, though, Granddad? They say it's even faster then a Cleansweep 2! I bet all the kids at school get one of those." He added a heavy dramatic sigh; just by the odd chance his grandfather didn't get the hint. The man chuckled.

"I'm sure not everyone in Hogwarts _breathes _Quidditch, James. Besides, if memory serves, first years aren't allowed brooms."

"I know, but I could practice on it during holidays. By next year they'll be begging me to be on the house team," James said, clutching at his grandfather's sleeve and giving him the most innocent waifish look he could manage.

"We'll see," Grandfather said, reaching down and ruffling his all ready mussed hair. "Now come on, we'd better get some school shopping done. The floo network will most likely be jammed this evening and you know how your Grandmam feels about us being late."

After casting one long last look at the broom, James reluctantly followed his grandfather through the pressing crowd. He kept a hand on his grandfather's sleeve to keep from getting lost and glanced around at the people. A lot of them were students, some even his own age. It would be fun living with all of them. His home was far in the country so they could have room for grandfather's owl sanctuary. There wasn't anyone his own age that didn't live over six miles away. They didn't even have a house-elf… Just a crotchety old maid and an equally old valet whose knees creaked. Then there were the owls. James grimaced at the thought. He wouldn't mind going to Hogwarts if just to get away from them. Grandfather _loved _owls, and so, gave them free run of the house. They had old owls, sick owls, owls whose owners were on vacation, nesting owls, abandoned owls. It was all James could do to keep his little pet mouse from being eaten.

With a small smile, he slipped his hand into his pocket and gently petted the warm bundle. Squeakers was curled up, like he was sleeping. Grandfather had said to leave him home. Since none of the owls came down to the basement, he'd said, Squeakers was safe. But James didn't trust owls at all. They were just waiting for him to leave his pet alone so they could nab him. Stupid birds. Suddenly James found himself stumbling into his grandfather's elbow. The man had stopped for some reason and was gazing across the street with something close to joy.

"Well I'll be. Can't believe the old place is still here," the man murmured. James followed his grandfather's line of sight. Not a few feet away hung a sign that proudly read, Eeylops Owl Emporium. James groaned. Oh nooo.

"We all ready have enough owls at home," the boy said, tugging desperately on his sleeve. Grandfather gave him a smile.

"Oh, I'm not going to buy one. Just going to look around. It won't take long, I promise."

James groaned extra loudly as he let himself be dragged into the shop. Why couldn't his grandfather be this obsessed over Quidditch? Suddenly he remembered the beautiful Shooting Star and immediately stopped whining. Owls always put Grandfather in a good mood. James smiled to himself. He could almost feel the broom in his hands now. But even that wonderful thought wasn't enough to keep him from cringing when they entered the shop. Owls were stuffed into every available space. There were owls on perches and owls in cages and even owls that peered out from the dark recesses of large bird houses. Bells rang softly as the door swung shut him and several owls ruffled their feathers. Large yellow eyes watched him hungrily and he suddenly remembered what he carried in his pocket. James cupped a hand protectively over the rodent and glared at the feathered pests, daring them to try it.

"Can I help you?" asked a man, coming behind a pile of owl cages. The man looked like an owl himself, white hair fluffed around his face and his eyes staring unblinkingly huge behind a big pair of thick glasses. James snickered in his hand, trying to disguise it as a cough. The man glanced at him, but said nothing. There was a long time where no one said anything. Grandfather was glancing around, eyes wide as saucers. James blushed slightly. What was so wonderful about a bunch of ruddy owls? After a moment, the shopkeeper cleared his throat.

"Well, I'll have to start feeding them. If you need help just-"

"My word!" Grandfather said, bustling to the far side of the room and bending to peer into a small cage. "Is that a Peruvian Pygmy? However do you get them in?"

"You know about owls, do you?" the shop keeper asked, his winged eyebrows shooting up. James gritted his teeth. Uh-oh. _Don't get him started, _he begged silently. _Pleaaase don't get him started._

"Quite a bit, actually. Have a little owl sanctuary…"

"I have quite a selection of Ural owls, too," the man said, leading Grandfather to a different part of the store.

"Yes, I'd noticed. Remarkable creatures, those."

"I've always thought so."

James rolled his eyes. Great. Now they were going to be in here forever. Next time, he was coming supply shopping with his grandmother. He had an even less chance of getting a Shooting Star from her, but at least it was better then being stuck in _this _feather bin. A small movement in his pocket told him Squeakers was awake and shifting restlessly. James reached inside and began to pet him again, throwing a glance at his grandfather. It didn't seem as if he and the shopkeeper would let up any time soon. Maybe he could just sneak out real quick and play with Squeakers a bit.

Suddenly the bells on the door jangled wildly, making him jump. He turned, adjusting his glasses as he did so, and saw a lady come sailing in. She was dressed entirely in black, from her small hat perched on thinning hair, to her long black dress, splashed with a few silver stars. A boy, maybe a little younger then he was, came sulkily in, hair and eyes as black as the lady's dress. For a moment, they stood in the doorway, as if expecting applause at their entrance. Receiving nothing but a few quiet hoots, the woman swung her bony face around and jabbed a skeletal finger in James' direction.

"You! Where is the shopkeeper?" she snapped. James took a surprised step back and looked around. Grandfather and the shopkeeper had disappeared somewhere while he wasn't paying attention.

"Uhh..." he managed. The woman sighed in a disgusted manner and stalked further into the store, black skirt swishing. Her son remained behind, arms folded.

"Er, hi. I'm James," James ventured. The boy gave him a narrow eyed glare then turned away. James felt his insides knot in irritation. Snobby little boogey, wasn't he? For a while, neither of them did anything. Then the boy went over to one of the owl cages that hung freely from a pole and begun to shake it back and forth. The cage's occupant hooted in alarm and flapped its wings desperately, trying to keep balance.

"Hey! Stop that!" James snapped. He wasn't particularly fond of owls, but he couldn't stand to see anything bullied. The boy stopped and turned to look back at him, a smirk playing over his pale face.

"How are you going to stop me, mudblood?" he drawled. The word hit James like a wave of cold water. He stood there for a second, utterly shocked. The faint jingling of bells turned a switch inside him. Liquid fire jolted through every part of James' body.

"What- did- you- just-say?" James bit out, clenching his hands into fists. The boy turned to face him and James suddenly wanted nothing more then to punch him.

"Well, with a face that ugly, you _have _to be a mudblood. Standards haven't--" but whatever the boy was about to say next was cut off when an arm looped around his neck and pulled him into a headlock. James was taken aback by the suddenness of the attack and stared at the newcomer. He looked very much like the annoying little git he was holding, black hair and all.

"Ow, Sirius, let go!" gasped the restrained boy, trying to pull the older one's arms away, but his assailant just grinned up at James, grey eyes shining.

"Sorry about this little wart. He has no manners."

"I'll tell mummy!"

"No you won't or I'll sell you to the nearest hag," Sirius said, rubbing his knuckles briefly over the younger boy's head before sending him stumbling away. James found his anger easing, the insult quickly becoming nothing more then a memory.

"I'm Sirius, Sirius Black," the boy said, extending a hand. James accepted it, finding Sirius' palm surprisingly cool.

"James Potter."

"Good to meet you. Sorry for the little berk over there." Sirius jerked his head at the younger boy who had gone back to sulking. "Anyone that's not related is dirt to him. And little brothers are generally a pain in the ass."

"I wouldn't know," James said awkwardly. He was a little surprised at Sirius' language. If he even thought of speaking like that, Grandmother would force feed him soap.

"So what are you doing here?" Sirius asked, wandering away to stare at a particularly grumpy looking barn owl. "Parents buying you a pet?"

"No way. I _hate _owls. But Granddad really likes them so…" James shrugged. Sirius laughed.

"You'd get along with my mum, then. She can't stand them either. But 'Blacks have had owls since the time of your grandfather's grandfather','" Sirius said, screwing up his face and speaking in a high-pitched voice. James smiled uncomfortably, sensing it was a joke but not getting it.

"I'll tell Mummy you're making fun of her!" the little brother piped up. Sirius glared at him

"Ah belt up and bugger off, Regulus, you're annoying." The two brothers had a stare down for a moment, then the younger one's face crumpled.

"Mummyyy!" he cried, dashing through the store. Sirius grinned and lightly grabbed James' arm.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go some place to hide. If mum comes back she'll get mad at you."

"But I haven't done anything."

"Doesn't matter. She's just like Regulus." He rolled his eyes. Suddenly there was the sharp tapping of booted feet against the floor. "Come on!" Sirius said in a whisper. There were a large number of empty owl cages piled up on the other side of the room. Sirius dashed for them and James followed, dunking low to avoid being seen. He didn't think Sirius was right, but he didn't want to risk it. If she really _was _mad at him for some reason, he might as well kiss the Shooting Star goodbye. This wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten in trouble with mean old ladies, and grandfather would probably take her side.

Mrs. Black came into sight, her bony face swinging this way and that. She really did look mad. James slunk closer to the wall. If she were really looking for him, owl cages wouldn't be enough to hide him. His back hit something wooden and when he turned, found it to be a door. Turning the knob as quietly as he could, he swung the door open and stepped in. The room was long and narrow, ending in a rather large window. Rat cages were stacked high on a rickety wooden table on one side of the room. The other had old shelves with boxes upon boxes of owl treats. The door clicked shut behind him and Sirius leaned against it, sighing heavily.

"Good thing we got out of that. If I had to hear one more lecture about Black family honor…."

James nodded, understanding the other boy's need to get away all to well. How many times had he been lectured by his grandparents? 'Only the very best get to do Quidditch professionally, keep your mind on your studies.' Or. 'How many times have I told you not to fly that thing in the house?' And his personal favorite. 'You should be _nicer _to the owls, James. You'd really like them if you gave them a chance.'

"We're not out of anything yet," James reluctantly pointed out. "We can't hide in here forever."

"You're right. Ah bugger, I don't want to set Mum off again…" Sirius trailed off into silence, biting his lower lip as his eyes darted around the room. It had been a pretty stupid idea to come in here, too. He was practically admitting his guilt. To make things worse, they were trapped. James absently ran a hand through his hair as he tried to think. Unfortunately, the only thing that existed in his mind was the dream of the Shooting Star slipping further and further away from him.

"Heh," said Sirius. James looked at him and was surprised to find a grin spreading over his features. The boy was glancing at something behind him. James turned, but all he saw were the rat cages.

"What do you think, Potter?" Sirius asked, strutting over and examining the rats before grinning up at him. "You think those owls have been fed yet?"

"No, but what does that have to do…" James trailed off as understanding dawned on him. "Are you mad!" he snapped, clenching his hand into a fist. "We're all ready in enough trouble as it is!"

"Ah, well see, _you're _the one that's really in trouble," Sirius said, trying to pry the top of the cage loose. "I can just pop out that window and mum will never know I was here."

"Then why were you in such a hurry to get away from her?"

"Didn't know there was a window, now did I?"

"Look, if you set those rats free, I'm never going to hear the end of it," James said heatedly. Black gave him an obnoxious grin.

"Bully for you," he said, finally managing to lift the lid. James clenched his teeth. There was no way he was going to let this… this… _git _get him into any more trouble then he all ready was. Slapping his hand on top of the cage, he slammed it down. Black yelped and managed to jerk back his fingers just in time. Sirius Black turned to face him, grey eyes narrowed into slits. James met his glare without backing down.

"You nearly smashed my hand, _Potter_," Black hissed.

"Bully for you."

Black looked angry for a moment, and then smirked.

"I bet you're just too _scared _to get in trouble. What's the matter? Afraid of a little discipline?"

"I am not scared!" James snapped indignantly.

"Aww! Wittle baby Potter's scawed!" Black said, pulling his face into an exaggerated frown.

"Shut up!"

"Scared! Scared!" Black sang. James shoved him hard. Black shoved him back. Soon they were locked arm in arm, struggling to get the upper hand over the other. James grunted as he was slammed up against the edge of a shelf. Boxes rained down over both their heads. Some busted open and spread owl treats all over the floor.

"Say uncle, Potter!" Black said.

"No!" James roared, pushing the other boy back. Owl treats rolled under his feet and sent him crashing harder into Black then he'd intended and sent them both careening onto the table. There was a terrific crack as the wood splintered and everything came crashing down around them. Suddenly something smacked hard into the back of his head. There was a searing pain as if his head was being split open, then nothing.

* * *

Pain. Lots of pain. His head was pounding so hard, it felt like it would burst. Where the heck had it come from? There was the sound of a door being shut a little too loudly and rapid footsteps. 

"How is he?" Grandfather? James sincerely hoped not. He didn't sound happy at _all._

"He'll be fine, Herman," said Grandmother softly. "Just got a bit of a bump is all."

"He's lucky. If I'd caught hold of him, he'd have more then just that."

Uh oh. Grandfather sounded _really _angry. What in the world had he- Suddenly James remembered. Oh no. Ohhh noooo. He was in sooo much trouble. Forget about the Shooting Star… He'd be lucky if Grandfather let him go to Hogwarts! It was all Sirius Black's fault, too! Him and his stupid little brother! Maybe…maybe he could explain what really happened! James slowly opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. Grandfather usually always had an owl on his person, somewhere. Whether on his shoulder or perched on the brim of his ratty old hat. But the only thing owlish on him now was a little feather next to his collar. James gulped. If even the _owls _didn't want to be near him….

"Don't be too harsh, Herman dear," Grandmother said kindly, patting James' hand. Then she gathered up her wash bowl and left the room. James severely wished she hadn't left.

"I have never been so embarrassed in all my life," Grandfather said, quietly, his eyes boring a hole into James' own. "How could you do this, James? I thought you had better sense. I'll never be able to show my face in Eeylops again, not after all the havoc you caused." James wriggled uncomfortably, feeling more then a little ashamed.

"But…but…if it wasn't for Black I-"

"And that's another thing…fighting with the young Black. Honestly, James, you have more common sense then that!"

"But he started it!"

"That's not the point. I know we've taught you how much influence older families have. The Black's are about as old as you can get."

"They can't do anything to us!" James said stubbornly, a spark of anger flaring in him once more. "We're an old family, too!"

"The Potter name is old, yes, but hardly as revered as Black. He could cause a lot of trouble for you in school." The sad look on his grandfather's face mad James even guiltier. He was about to apologize, but then caught up with all his grandfather had said.

"School? You mean I'm still going to Hogwarts?" James said, wide eyed. Grandfather chuckled.

"Of course you're still going. You're going to miss our owls horribly, I daresay." Grandfather winked. "But I'm sure you'll get over it." James laughed weakly.

"Now," Grandfather said, tucking the blankets more securely around him. "I'm sure you know you'll be grounded until school time comes. That means no going outside and absolutely _no _flying."

"Aww, Granddad, not even to get practice?" James said, giving him a puppy face.

"You'll have plenty of time to practice at school. Now get some rest. First thing in the morning, you get to clean the tower."

"Oh no, not the tower!" James moaned. The tower was where all the owls slept during the day. The floor of it was covered in feathers…and…other things.

"Oh yes, the tower. It needs a good scrubbing." Grandfather gently kissed James' forehead, then stood with a slight creaking of knees and groaning of back. James closed his eyes. Oh well. With a sigh, he reached down to his pocket to give Squeakers some affection, only to find it empty. His heart fluttered. Where was he?

"Granddad? Where's Squeakers?" he asked. Grandfather paused, hand still on the door.

"In his cage I expect, where you left him this morning. I hope you're not thinking about sleeping with him again. He might get away and you know how Hesta hates rodents."

Oh no! Grandfather hadn't realized James snuck Squeakers into Diagon Alley! No, wait! Maybe grandmother had found Squeakers in his pocket and put the mouse away. As soon as his grandfather closed the door, James bolted out of bed. A wave of unexpected dizziness made him grip the bed post to stay standing. When the feeling had passed, he groped through the darkness to find the mouse cage. Just by lifting it, he could tell it was empty. Sinking to his knees, he clutched the small cage to him like it was a teddy bear. Squeakers could be anywhere. He'd be all cold and alone. Maybe even…even eaten. Tears burned the back of his eyes and he gulped them back. Another thought made him clench the cage so hard that the corners bit into his fingers. This was all Sirius Black's fault! Squeakers was his best friend and he'd never forgive that grey-eyed git for taking it away from him.

With a quiet snuffle, James shuffled back to bed, taking the lonely mouse cage with him. He tucked himself back in the covers. The air still hung with the vague smell of Squeakers. Now he would have no one to go to Hogwarts with. Hogwarts... James' eyes narrowed. Black would be there too. In the same year probably. James would make sure Black would regret what he'd done. Even if he had to hex the boy's nose off and get detention for a whole year... He wouldn't let the other oy get away with this...

* * *

TBC... 

Well, there you go, folks. Don't know how often this is going to be updated except it will. Many, many thanks goes out to YiraHeerai- THANK YOU, GIRL! and Kiija Hatsumi- You too, Kiij-miester. .

As for future plans for this fic, well, I'll say nothing. I always have future plans. Let's just say that you'll be in for a ride.


	2. Prelude: Sirius

Band of Brothers**_  
Prelude_**  
**Chapter 2  
Sirius

* * *

**

It was late. He could feel the hours pulling down on him. The window that was jinxed to show something other then next-doors sitting room revealed dazzling stars set in a deep black sky. It would have been a cleverer spell if something changed. If the moon rose, say, or even clouds that blotted everything from view. Unfortunately, the spell was not designed to change. So the stars burned the same as he had always known them.

Sirius lay stretched on his soft bed; hands tucked behind his head, and stared out at those softly twinkling stars. The one that was his namesake shone brighter then the others and had been placed in the center of the window as if it were somehow more important then the others. With a sigh, he turned his gaze to the ceiling. The flickering fire set in the small hearth made shadows dance across the white ceiling. It was boring just lying here… He had been since they got back from Diagon Alley. Their first and only stop had been the Owl Emporium where he'd fought with that stupid Potter boy.

He could remember being shoved into the table which caved under him, remembered all the rat cages tumbling down and then he'd smacked the back of his head on something, knocking himself silly. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in bed, mother standing over him. Far from being worried, her face could have scared a banshee. She'd screamed at him, voice not helping his pounding skull. He'd bought disgrace to the entire family, she'd said. Rolling about on the filthy ground with that little nobody. He'd tried to point out that they were only on the floor in the end, but she hadn't listened, only told him he was to stay in the room until tomorrow and had hexed the door to assure he would. It was all that stupid Potter's fault. If only he hadn't been such a little prat about everything. Couldn't even handle getting into a little trouble. Hmph. Sirius _always _got into trouble and it never frightened him any.

A low growl from his stomach interrupted his thoughts and reminded him he hadn't eaten since breakfast. With a grunt, Sirius rolled over a fished in his nightstand drawer. After a minute he pulled out a solid gold pocket watch. Flicking it open with a thumbnail, he stared at the hands. Twelve-sixteen. With a grin he clicked it shut and flung it carelessly onto the table. Then he slipped out of bed, stepped over the old wolfhound asleep in the middle of the room and tried the door. It swung open easily. There was a soft snort behind him. Sirius glanced over his shoulder to see the large dog had woken up and was giving him a questioning look.

"Come on, Baer. Let's go get a snack," he said, slapping his thigh. The dog rose slowly to his feet, tail wagging slowly. Boy and pet padded down the long, dark, hall, and the rather steep set of stairs. Then across the cool wooden floor to the other end of the house where a door stood ajar and splashed light across the wall. Sirius pushed open the door the rest of the way and smiled at the cheery kitchen. This was the best room in the house, second only to his bedroom. His smile turned into a puzzled frown as he looked at the sturdy oak table and saw Regulus sitting there, a plate of chocolate chip cookies in front of him. The nine-year-old glanced up as he came in, then pinked slightly and looked away. Sirius was about to ask when there was a sharp tug at his sleeve.

"Young master Sirius should be in his room," said the house-elf near his elbow. "Our Mistress is very cross with him."

"Oh, bugger off, Kreacher," Sirius snapped, jerking his arm away. "Mum said-" He broke off at the house-elf's affronted look, sighed, and rolled his eyes. "_Mother _said that I only had to stay in my room until tomorrow… and it _is _tomorrow." Kreacher bowed, hiding a scowl as he did so.

"Young master is very clever. He puts quite a strain on dear mistress' heart."

"Shut up and get me some cookies," Sirius said, plopping down at the table. Baer sighed softly and lay beside his chair. He smiled and patted the old dog's head. "And something for Baer, too."

Kreacher shuffled off, muttering to himself, and in an instant Sirius had a plate of hot cookies and a tall glass of milk. Baer was enjoying a bowl of mushed meat, which was all his old teeth could handle. After cramming a cookie into his mouth and taking a long swallow of milk, he turned his attention once more to his little brother. Regulus seemed to have lost his appetite and was breaking little pieces off his snack.

"What are you doing up?" Sirius asked, grabbing another cookie. Regulus shrugged.

"I was hungry…" he murmured, not meeting Sirius' eyes. Sirius didn't ask further. It didn't really matter anyway. He watched his little brother take the broken up bits of cookie and sprinkle them near a white fluffball that was sitting in front of his plate. The fluffball turned out to be a mouse with gleaming red eyes.

"Hatts ollins yira score," the creature squeaked, grabbing a morsel between its two pink paws. Sirius raised his eyebrows. A _talking _mouse. Those cost quite a few galleons. Regulus didn't get _that _much pocket money. The younger boy seemed to realize what he was thinking and stroked the mouse gently with a fingertip.

"I found him."

"Yeah? Where at."

"At Eeylops, right before we were kicked out," Regulus said calmly. Sirius had chosen that moment to drink and now choked on his milk.

"Kicked out of Eeylops?" Sirius echoed as soon as the coughing fit let up. Regulus nodded faintly, seeming completely enraptured with the mouse which was now cleaning its whiskers.

"Uh-huh. When Mummy went into that back room and found you lying there, she nearly had a fit. Kept screaming to the shop keeper that…that boy-"

"Potter," Sirius said.

"Yeah, Potter. That he had attacked you and everything, and that you were perfectly innocent. Then this old man came in too and he started arguing with Mummy and they both got really red. Then the owls started going for all the loose rats, hooting and screeching and there were feathers everywhere and then the shopkeeper told all of us to get out."

"No joke! What'd mum do?" Sirius asked, thoroughly intrigued.

"She looked like her head would pop clean off." Regulus looked at him then, and there was no mistaking the smile in his eyes. "And I thought she was going to blister his ears for forcing us out. But she just said that she wouldn't buy an owl from such a low class place anyway."

Sirius was about to say something rude when Kreacher bustled up, his large bulbous eyes glinting with annoyance. The boy glared right back. Stupid house-elf. He had no right to look annoyed. He never had with mother.

"Kreacher wonders if the young masters are ready to stop messing up poor Kreacher's kitchen and go back to bed where they belong."

"We're sorry-" started Regulus.

"We'll go to bed when we bloody well feel like it," Sirius broke in. "If we're bothering you, why don't you go have some fun and beat yourself?"

"Yes, of course, young master. Forgive Kreacher's intrusion," the elf muttered, sounding not one whit apologetic. Bowing low, the house-elf backed out and disappeared in the shadows. Sirius shook his head and crammed another cookie into his mouth.

"Mummy said you shouldn't use words like that," Regulus said.

"Life whaf?" Sirius asked around a mouthful of cookie.

"Like what you just said. Mummy says that all Blacks have to speak like they've had some breeding, not like they were born in the gutter."

Sirius rolled his eyes. As if he didn't hear that phrase often enough from mother. "Maybe…but I'm not _all_ Blacks," he said, finishing off his milk and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And neither are you. Just because generations of our family didn't know how to do anything but follow directions doesn't mean we have to."

Regulus lifted his nose in the air and gave Sirius an annoying know-it-all look.

"It's called _tradition._ Mummy says that following tradition is important and that's what all good boys do. That's why _I _get to go to Grandmother's tomorrow and _you _don't."

"Why can't I?" Truthfully, he would love to go to grandmother's house. She wasn't much better then his mother in many respects. But she had a huge yard that he and Baer to run in and he could even practice on his old Cloud Chaser if he didn't go too high. Plus the fact that Andromeda might be there. Of all his cousins, she was his favorite.

"You're going to Diagon Alley again," Regulus said, scooping up the mouse and getting to his feet. In a flash, Kreacher appeared and whisked everything from the table, a clear indication to get moving. Sirius glared at the house-elf who was bowing and scraping and telling them to have a good night. If Regulus had stayed, Kreacher would have kept giving them cookies until their stomachs burst. Sirius stood quickly so that his chair clattered to the floor. There was a soft whine and suddenly a cold wet nose nuzzled his palm. Sirius smiled and scratched behind Baer's ears. At least someone in this house liked him.

"Sirius…" Regulus started.

"What?" said the older boy when the younger didn't continue. Regulus shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable.

"I was wondering if-"

"No," said Sirius, brushing past his brother and marching out into the hall. He wasn't about to do any sort of favor for precious little Regulus. If the little brat wanted anything, he could go ask mother. Whatever it was, she'd give it to him in a heartbeat. There were rapid footsteps as his brother started to follow him. Sirius picked up his pace so he was practically running and was halfway up the stairs when Regulus shouted:

"Sirius, wait! Please?" The boy sounded desperate. Sirius stopped with a heavy sigh and waited for his brother to catch up.

"Look. Whatever it is, I-"

"There's a boggart under my bed!" Regulus interrupted. It was too dark to see his face properly, but by the sound of his voice he was about to burst into tears. "And it keeps making horrible noises and saying it's going to eat me."

"So why don't you have Mother or Father get rid of it?"

"Because Mummy gets mad when she's woken up. You know that."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Can I sleep with you? Just for tonight," he added hastily. "Please? I'll give you this mouse."

Sirius was tempted to say no and that he didn't need a mouse. But he knew how scary it was to be nine and have a monster under your bed.

"All right, but just for tonight."

"Thank you," Regulus whispered, grabbing his hand. Sirius rolled his eyes but didn't break the other boy's grip as they continued upstairs. Little brothers were such a pain. Especially spoiled rotten ones who got everything they ever wanted on a silver platter. Still, spoiled or not, a part of Sirius wanted to protect him. Regulus wouldn't be half bad if he just stopped going on about Black family honor. Honestly, it wasn't as if he didn't hear it enough from everyone else.

Soon they had reached the room. Without pausing, Regulus flung open the door, barged across the carpet and flumped right in the middle of the bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows. There was a soft whuff as Baer came into the room. Sirius looked down at him. The dog's slightly exasperated expression made the boy grin.

"I know, old friend. Regulus is a right little twit." Then, after giving his pet a goodnight pat, went to try and nudge his way into bed. At first, Regulus refused to give over. But after a few good pokes and a threat to throw him to the boggart, the younger boy hastily moved aside. Once Sirius was comfortable though, Regulus snuggled up to him like he was some sort of giant teddy bear. Sirius rolled his eyes heavenward. Siblings… But, really, he couldn't complain too much. Andromeda had two siblings…and quite annoying ones at that. Girls were annoying in general but Narcissa and Bellatrix seemed to take it to extremes.

Thinking of annoying… Sirius closed his eyes and sunk his head back into the pillow. Tomorrow he would have to go back to Diagon Alley. Mother was going to be an absolute bat about everything. But if he kept his nose clean and tried to stay out of trouble, it shouldn't be too bad. As long as he didn't run into any more Potters.

* * *

It was a musty old shop and surprisingly quiet considering the chaos outside. Long narrow boxes were stacked everywhere in a kind of ordered mess. Appearance wise, it didn't look like a very important place. But Sirius had known the truth even before he'd stepped inside and felt the slight tingle at the base of his neck. In each of those musty old looking boxes was a wand. In one of them was his wand. A wand all his own that no one else would be able to use as well. Mother always said a wizard without his wand was no wizard at all. 

Sirius danced from foot to foot, impatient to get on with it. Mother was waiting at Flourish and Blotts and the longer he took in getting there, the more suspicious she would get. Unfortunately, Ollivander was helping a young, nervous looking girl with a round face. She had gone through a pile of wands all ready and seemed a little frightened"Ma…maybe it was a mistake," she whimpered, wringing her hands. "Th…they must have delivered the letter to the wrong person…"

"Don't fret, don't fret," Ollivander said absently, stepping up on a high ladder to peer at some boxes on the top shelf. "Sometimes it just takes a little digging to find the right one."

"I do hope so," the girl said. "It's never happened in my family before, you know. My sister thinks it's all a big prank."

Sirius stared at her in surprise. "You're a mudblood?" The words shot out of his mouth before he quite realized it and he nearly smacked himself. There was a soft clatter as Ollivander nearly dropped the box he was holding. The girl turned to stare at him with wide eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it," Sirius said hastily. "It really doesn't matter to me what you are." It was true. It didn't matter to him whether she came from the muggliest of muggles or the most pureblooded family out there. But mother used to say that all mudbloods were obnoxious and disgustingly plain, and this girl didn't look either.

"What do you mean?" the girl raised her dark eyebrows. "What, exactly, do you think I am?" Before he could answer, Ollivander plunked the box onto the counter and carefully opened it.

"Try this," the old wizard said, handing a long bendy wand to the girl. "Willow and dragon heart-string, ten and a quarter inches. Give it a wave." The girl bit her lip and did so, letting out a startled "Oh!" as a shower of gold sparks shot from it.

"Excellent." Ollivander took her wand and began to wrap it up. "It's a rather tricky combination to work with, but I'm sure you'll master it." The girl paid for her wand and, after a passing glance at Sirius, left. He watched her go, smiling apologetically as she peered at him through the window. A tape measure suddenly popped into existence a few centimeters from his eye, making him jump horribly.

"Now, Mr. Black," Ollivander said from a distant part of the shop as the tape measure began to record the length of Sirius' nose. "I don't expect much trouble with you. I've outfitted your family for- oh- generations. It's astonishing but they always seem to fit the same kind of wand."

"I'm not surprised," Sirius muttered. The tape measure which was checking the distance between his fingers dropped down and coiled around his ankle rather like a snake.

"Your mother had ebony, eleven inches, dragon heart-string. A good solid wand for basic spell work but very rigid. Your father had ebony too…same core of course, seven and half inches and extremely bendy. I imagine he was somewhat of a natural disaster in charms."

That sounded like his parents, all right. Mother ruled the entire household with an iron fist. Even Father found it easier to bow to her wishes. In fact, his favorite phrase seemed to be 'Go ask your mother'. It was funny, but he never seemed to mind her rules until recently. When he was younger he used to adore mother as much as Kreacher did. During those days, Kreacher treated him with the same reverence as he did Regulus. Sirius could do absolutely no wrong. But lately something had changed. Mother's rules and ideas seemed confining and more then a little aggravating. A wand suddenly poked into his line of vision, scattering his thoughts.

"Ebony, dragon heart-string, nine inches, nice little flick to it," Ollivander said. Sirius sighed and took the wand, holding it still in his hand and gazing along its length. It was the same kind of wand his parents had… his grandparents had…and probably the same kind that Regulus was going to get. Suddenly his entire future opened in front of him. This would be his wand, or one like it. Then he would go to Hogwarts and be sorted into Slytherin where he would try to make the most powerful connections he could to bring up the Black family name. Then he supposed he would inherit Grimmauld Place and live the rest of his life being the perfect Black in perfect misery.

"Well?" said Ollivander. "Give it a wave." The old man seemed to be waiting for something. Sirius glanced at the man curiously, but Ollivander did nothing but stare at him. With a small shrug he gritted his teeth and raised the wand. A lump knotted in his throat. Just a simple swish and a shower of sparks would seal his fate. Soon he would be just another Black. Just another name on the family tree.

"No!" Sirius shouted, slamming the wand on the counter.

"No?" said Ollivander, a small smile playing around his lips.

"No." Sirius gave him a hard look. "I want a different wand. I don't _care _if everyone in my family uses the same bloody wand. I don't _care _about tradition. Regulus can follow it well enough for the both of us." Annoyingly enough, Ollivander didn't seem at all surprised by this. Instead he just smiled in a misty sort of way and put the ebony wand back in its box.

"I don't know, Mr. Black. Being different can be quite a challenge. Are you sure you're up to it?"

"I'd rather be different then mindless," Sirius muttered.

"A very brave idea." Ollivander opened the only other box on the counter and revealed a long whitish wand. "Ten inches, ash, core of unicorn tail and surprisingly springy. Want to give it a try?"

Sirius stared at it, fingers all ready twitching to wrap around the handle. A single thought held him back.

"Mother will kill me," he whispered.

"That's always a possibility. But, ultimately, it's your choice."

Sirius' stomach twisted and suddenly he felt like a little kid. Talking and complaining about it was one thing…but actually going completely against her was another. She wouldn't just be mad, she'd be furious. There was no telling what she would do.

On the other hand, she wasn't here. She wouldn't likely pay attention to the wand he had. Even if she did notice, she wouldn't know he'd chosen it. After all, everyone knew that the wand chose the wizard. Was it his fault? He reached for the ash wand but another thought stilled his hand. What if the wand didn't choose him? What if he was really just another Black?

"Try it," Ollivander said. Sirius nodded slowly and took it from the box. Pleasant tingles ran from his hand to the back of his neck and when he swished it red and gold sparks flowed from it.

"What are you doing?" a familiar voice snapped. Sirius jumped and turned, automatically hiding the wand behind his back. Mother stood framed in a doorway; Kreacher was slouched behind her, up to his huge eyeballs in books and with a cauldron swinging from his skinny arm.

"Just buying a wand," Sirius said, hoping she wouldn't ask to see it.

"Seven galleons, please," Ollivander said immediately. Sirius pulled the coins his mother had given him out of his front pocket and placed them on the counter.

"You certainly took long enough," Mother said, but a bit more softly, thrusting out her hand. Sirius took it and she led him out of the shop and into the crowded street. Abruptly her grip softened and a smile lifted her lips. She gave him a look that was usually only reserved for Regulus. His heart warmed and he couldn't help but smile back.

"I'm glad you weren't getting into trouble," she said, giving his hand a little squeeze. "If you behaved this well all the time, I wouldn't have to get cross with you so often." With mother being so nice, it was tempting to really behave all the time. But even mother's rare approval couldn't beat slipping beetles into Regulus' tea. Thinking of tea… It had to be about three o'clock. Baer had been cooped up inside all day.

"So can we go home now?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Not yet. We still have to go to Madam Malkin's. There is someone _exciting _I want you to meet."

Sirius groaned inwardly. He'd had a feeling that his mother's cheerfulness had to do with something other then him behaving. Someone important usually meant someone blooded that he was supposed to make a good impression with. He couldn't imagine who it could be, though. It seemed like he'd all ready met every pure blooded family that ever existed. All of them were the same too. Obnoxious, stuffy, arrogant. Well, except for the Weasleys, but mother hadn't wanted to stay around them for very long. Sirius had never figured out why. They seemed like pretty decent people.

Soon enough, they reached Madam Malkin's. A couple of mannequins stood in the store window, showing off various robes. Every once in a while they would shift position.

"Now," Mother said, drawing his attention away from the dummies. "I know he's a wee bit older then you, but I'm sure you can be friends if you make a good impression." She inspected him with narrowed eyes, brushing here, tucking there. "Why are you still holding your wand like a fool? Everyone knows you can't use it yet. Give it to Kreacher--and turn out your pockets. I don't trust that lump. I'll not have you setting off another dung bomb." She sniffed and straightened. "Now I'm going in to make sure he's still there. Come along when you're presentable and _don't _take all day." With that, she swept inside the shop. Sirius stared after her. Lump in his pocket? Oh right, the mouse Regulus had given him. He'd forgotten he'd had that. With gentle fingers he pried the creature from his pocket and held it up to eye level. The mouse twitched his nose and regarded him with beady red eyes.

"Where did young master get the new pet?" Kreacher asked suspiciously. "Young Master doesn't deserve a new pet."

"Belt up, Kreacher, or I'll give you a sock," he said absently, plunking his wand on top of the house-elf's pile. The mouse he set on his shoulder then pushed into the shop.

"Hatts ollins yira score," it squeaked softly in his ear. Sirius sighed. The mouse was cute, but that was all it ever said. Inside, Mother was talking to some tall, blond, woman in a green dress who was looking at her with polite disdain. He stomach dropped as he recognized her. Oh bugger…a Malfoy. That meant whoever he was supposed to meet fell into the 'make friends or else' category.

"Of course, we're all very proud of him, Arachne," Mother was saying. "He'll be one of the cleverest students they have."

"I'm sure," the blonde woman said in a bored tone. He was about to go up to them but a squat witch dressed in lilac blocked his way.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked, smiling warmly. Then, without waiting for an answer. "This way please, there's a lad." In the back of the shop was a small gang of teenagers, but only one of them was being fitted. Judging by his pale, pointy features, he was the one that Sirius was supposed to make friends with. Wee bit older his foot. Malfoy had to be in his last year at Hogwarts, if he was still in Hogwarts at all. All the teenagers gave him the same annoyed look as he was ushered into the room. Most of them were vaguely familiar. The two gorilla like ones who were cracking their knuckles and flexing rather impressive shoulders had to be a Crabbe and a Goyle. The skinny boy with more pimples then skin was possibly a McNair. Sirius' eyes rested on the blond girl who looked more annoyed then the rest and his heart sunk to join his stomach. A Black. More specifically, a Narcissa Black. How wonderful.

"Who are you?" drawled Malfoy scornfully as Sirius hopped up on a stool next to him. There was a moment of darkness as Madam Malkin slipped a dark robe over his head. Once he could see, he glared at the gray eyed teenager, intending to say something rude, but Narcissa spoke before him.

"He's my cousin, Lucius." Narcissa had spat the word cousin rather like it was a curse. She had loathed him ever since he'd given her a Medusa hairbrush for her birthday. Honestly, he didn't understand why. It wasn't like they hadn't managed to get rid of the snakes…and it had only taken a month at that. Malfoy's scowl melted into a smile. Sirius had too many nasty minded relatives to believe that smile was genuine.

"Are you really?" the older boy asked, stepping off the stool as the witch finished with him. "I have to admit I haven't met anyone from your branch of the family tree… aside from your parents, of course. What was your name?"

"Sirius," he said reluctantly. There was a slight pause in conversation as loud young voices drifted in from the direction of the shop.

"Better take care of that, dear," said Malkin, who was currently fiddling with Sirius' sleeves. The witch that had been fitting Malfoy began to hastily gather her materials.

"Your new Quidditch robes will be delivered tomorrow," she said quickly. Malfoy gave her a nod then turned his attention back to Sirius with the same snakeish smile.

"I'm the team captain," he said, as if Sirius should care.

"The best one we've had," grunted the Crabbe. Malfoy didn't even bother to acknowledge him, instead pushed a strand of white blond hair over his shoulder.

"Would you like to play Quidditch?" he asked, with the air of someone about to give out a wonderful present. If Sirius were stupider, he would have jumped at the offer. He would dearly _love _to play Quidditch. But no one gave something for nothing…especially not a Malfoy.

"I'm not sure how good I'll be," he said truthfully. Malfoy shrugged lightly.

"It really doesn't matter. Some of my team can't tell a bludger from a hole in the ground." He gave a brief glance to the pimply McNair. "What matters is that you have a good captain. Sadly, I'll have gone by the time you're able to play, but I'll make sure my successor is relatively decent."

"What do I have to do?" asked Sirius bluntly. Malfoy's smile never faltered.

"Do? You don't have to _do_ anything. We-"

"Excuse me," squeaked a voice from the door. A rotund boy with a surprisingly pointy nose stood in the doorway. He seemed to realize he had interrupted something and nervously meshed his pudgy fingers together. "E…excuse me…Mrs. Malkin?"

"Yes?" said the fitting witch, in a polite tone. Then, much warmer- "Oh, hello Peter. Did your robes show up yet? Our Magrat said she'd delivered them yesterday."

"Yes ma'am," the boy called Peter said, finally looking away from Sirius. "Only mum wanted to borrow a cup of cricket wings if you weren't busy."

"Of course Peter, dear." She patted Sirius' shoulder and smiled up at him. "I'll be back to finish up in a shake." Then she left in a swirl of lilac robes. Peter hung by the door, still looking quite nervous.

"As I was _saying_," Malfoy said, casting Peter a look that made the boy shake like a jelly. "You don't have to do anything because we purebloods have to look after ourselves. Dippet has been doing a shoddy job of it and with Dumbledore…" Malfoy's lip curled. "Well, with him becoming headmaster our school will probably be overcome with mudbloods…" Again he shot a scathing look at Peter. "Of course, with some there's not much difference."

Sirius felt his own lip curl. What a stuck up git!

"There's no reason say that," Sirius snapped before truly thinking about it. "Why did you say it? Just because he interrupted you? Oh, the great Malfoy, team captain, was interrupted; the world is going to end now." All traces of a smile were gone from Malfoy's face. His gray eyes were narrowed into slits.

"I would have thought that _you _would have some respect for breeding." And there it was, the perfect opportunity. Sirius knew that taking it would mean his mother being madder at him then she ever had been. He knew that it could make at least one year in Slytherin completely miserable. He was also painfully aware Malfoy could easily reach out and belt him one. He knew all of this…and realized none of it mattered.

"What, you mean _dog _breeding?" he said with a grin, quickly backing up a step and quite forgetting he was standing on a stool. The next moment he found himself sprawled on the floor, with the laughter of Malfoy's cronies ringing in his ears. Malfoy, however, remained straight faced, still giving him that narrow eyed look.

"Narcissa was right; you really are nothing more then a miserable little brat."

"I told you, Lucius," Narcissa said, coming beside Malfoy and slipping her arm through his. "Aunt Gomesia is always complaining about him." Sirius tried to think of a come back for that, but his mind remained frustratingly blank. For a moment, the couple did nothing but stare at him as if he was nothing more then a cockroach scuttling about on the floor.

"Do you want us to do something?" Crabbe…or possibly Goyle asked. Malfoy smirked.

"No." Was all he said before he and Narcissa swept from the room. Crabbe, Goyle and McNair followed soon after, shooting Sirius with dark looks. The boy glared after them. That was easy, too easy. There was the pounding of heavy feet and suddenly Peter was right beside him, his small dark eyes anxious.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked. For one wild moment, Sirius thought Peter knew what Malfoy was up to. Then remembered he'd fallen off the stool.

"Yeah, I'm all right," he said, pushing against the floor with his hands to get himself in a more comfortable position. His left hand came down on something surprisingly warm and there was a startled squeak. With a sympathetic wince, he gently picked the mouse up. The creature's red eyes were reproachful as it sat on his palm, violently twitching its nose.

"Thank you for doing that…" Peter said, meshing his fingers together again and staring at the floor. "Not a lot of people will stand up for me."

"Well a lot of people are gits," Sirius said distractedly, staring at the door. There was no way Malfoy was going to let him get out of that without doing something to him. Not knowing what or when it would happen was making him anxious.

"That's a cute mouse," Peter said. "Can I hold him?"

"Yeah, sure," Sirius said, tipping the mouse into his hand while desperately trying to think.

"My mum isn't too fond of mice. They get onto the brooms, you know. One time one of them chewed right through the handle. The spells went all wonky of course, was completely unsellable after that. And it was a Darter too, best turning broom on the market besides the Shooting Star. I've always wanted a mouse, though."

Suddenly, as if the boy's babbling had revealed some secret, Sirius knew.

"Oh bugger! He's going to tell Mother!" he yelled, shooting to his feet. "Probably going to lie, too! Filthy git!"

"Wh…what?" Peter asked. Sirius ignored him and bolted for the door. Malfoy had probably gotten to her by now. He wouldn't be able to undo anything, but at least he might be able to stop further damage.

"SIRIUS!" Mother's voice made the windows buzz. Sirius winced.

Oh…bugger.

* * *

TBC….

Ooh boy. This is gonna be a hell of a long fic. : Someone shoot me now. Anyway. Sorry about the magical reappearing mouse and the fact that the Sirius part was probably far longer then the James part. Don't worry, they'll all get more or less equal screen time. Thanks to all!


	3. Prelude: Peter

Band of Brothers  
_Prelude_  
**Chapter 3  
Peter

* * *

**

Peter had never in his life seen someone so angry. The woman towered over the black haired boy, shrieking at the top of her voice and jabbing a bone white finger at him. Instead of being apologetic as any other sensible child would have done, the boy argued right back and made the woman scream even more. Instinctively, Peter slouched against the wall, hoping he wouldn't be noticed. He didn't normally like conflict, and the thought of conflicting with that woman was positively terrifying. The mouse was trembling in his cupped hand. Peter closed his other hand over it and held it to his chest, knowing the creature would feel much better in a dark, warm place where no one could see it… Much like he was feeling at the moment. Suddenly, like a ray of purple sunshine, Mrs. Malkin came to the doorway. The usually friendly witch now wore a tight, professional smile.

"What's the trouble here, then?" Mrs. Malkin asked, folding her hands on her wide hips. The shrieking woman stopped abruptly, and gave Mrs. Malkin an affronted glare.

"I am disciplining my son." She sniffed, then added. "Not that it's any of _your _business." She spoke as if Mrs. Malkin was nothing more then a nosy five-year-old. Mrs. Malkin's smile became even more fixed, but the way her cheeks were reddening Peter could tell that the other woman had struck a nerve.

"If I could please ask you to discipline him outside, thank you," Mrs. Malkin said briskly. The other woman didn't seem to know how to take this. Her eyes went wide and her mouth open and shut again like a dying fish. Finally the woman drew herself up.

"Do you know who I am? My family tree stretches all the way back to-"

"Then perhaps you can discipline your son at home then, thank you," Mrs. Malkin said. At this, the dark haired boy threw back his head and laughed. Peter stared at him. Was he completely _mad_! Even the adults didn't seem to know what to make of him.

"You know, Madam Malkin, I think I like you," the boy said. The look his mother fixed on him would have sent Peter diving for cover, but the boy just grinned and said:

"That's two shops in as many days. Must be a new record."

"SIRIUS ONSLOW BLACK! THAT IS THE ABSOLUTE LAST-"

"Outside, please," Mrs. Malkin said in a voice that left no room for argument. The woman gave her a scathing look, then roughly grabbed the boy's arm and began to drag him from the room. He could still hear them, though, as they made their way through the shop.

"I'm sick of this behavior! You certainly _won't _be getting an owl this year!"

"I don't want a ruddy owl!"  
"In fact, Sirius, I don't think you deserve _any _pets."

"What! You can't-" But whatever she couldn't do was silenced when the shop door slammed shut. Mrs. Malkin sighed heavily, tucking a strand of brown hair under her mauve hat.

"No one has any manners these days." She glanced at him and smiled warmly. "Are you all right, Peter? She didn't start into you, did she?"

"No ma'am."

"That's good. Now, I expect you'll want some robes," she said, pulling out a measuring tape.

"Cricket wings," he said with a small giggle. Mrs. Malkin slapped a hand to her head, knocking her mauve hat askew.

"Oh, I've been so run off my feet today it went completely out of my head." She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I think I'm due for a break. Why don't you and I have a spot of tea and then I'll fetch those cricket wings for your mum."

"Do you mind mice?" Peter asked sheepishly, uncupping his hand to show her his new pet. The mouse had calmed down and was cleaning its whiskers.

"Not at all, dear," she said with a warm smile. Peter was led from the room into the business of the main shop. Mrs. Malkin stopped only long enough to tell her sales witch what she was doing then ushered Peter up a long stairwell that corkscrewed up to the second floor. Upstairs was a short cheerily lit corridor with flowered wallpaper that rustled softly from time to time. The few portraits that adorned the walls greeted him warmly as he passed. The parlor was the third door to the right. It was a sunlit room, dripping with lace doilies and occupied by several overstuffed chairs in various sizes and colors. Peter chose his favorite (a royal blue one with legs ending in paws) and settled in comfortably.

"Ah, I'm going to miss these little tea times once you're off to Hogwarts," Mrs. Malkin said, sitting in the chair opposite him and floating a small coffee table over to them with a flick of her wand. "I expect you're excited about it?"

"Yes," Peter said, feeling an uncomfortable little wiggle in his stomach. He was probably more nervous about going then he could ever be excited. It was frightening to think about leaving home for a whole year and living with strangers. Mrs. Malkin didn't seem to notice his worry as she was too busy conjuring a silver tea service with a violet tea cups and pot.

"That's good, dear. That's good. I suppose you'll want to join your parents' house." A tap of her wand made steam hiss from the spout of the teapot and another wave laid out chocolate biscuits, oatmeal cookies and little purple pastries shaped like pointed hats.

"Well, dad was a Hufflepuff and mum was a Ravenclaw," he said, watching absently as she poured his tea and plopped in three lumps of sugar.

"Oh yes, that's right. I was in Hufflepuff myself, you know. I was a right hand at charms…not bad at transfiguration, either, but then Dumbledore was a marvelous teacher. He'll do Hogwarts a world of good. Not that I think it's bad, mind you. Dippet was a wonderful headmaster…. It won't stay warm forever, dear."

Peter blinked, a little startled at the abrupt switch in conversation. Then with a sheepish smile set the mouse on the table to free up his hands and took a sip. For a moment, the mouse did nothing, then scuttled over to the chocolate biscuit tray and looked up at Mrs. Malkin, clearly asking permission. Peter was impressed. That wasn't a normal mouse! It must have been expensive. Well…well if that boy ever came looking for it, Peter would be sure to give it back.

"Clever thing," Mrs. Malkin chuckled. She did a complicated wave with her wand. A chocolate biscuit folded into shape of a tea cup and came to rest in front of the creature. The mouse immediately began to nibble its treat.

"How sweet. What's his name?" Mrs. Malkin asked. Peter thought fast. As far as he could remember, the boy hadn't called it anything. Suddenly his throat felt constricted and the tea cup became slippery under his fingers. Hastily, Peter set it down so as not to drop it. Mrs. Malkin was still waiting for an answer and her gaze was quickly becoming concerned. Peter's heart fluttered slightly and he said the first words that came to his mind.

"Ch…chocolate Biscuit," he squeaked. Mrs. Malkin gave him a puzzled look, but only said:

"All right, dear." And took a sip of her tea. Peter relaxed, trying not to breathe out too deeply. That had almost felt like a lie…. He hated lying. He'd never been any good at it. It was just like that when someone asked him a question he should know but didn't. They continued drinking in silence. Chocolate Biscuit finished his snack and began to sniff along the table.

"I expect your mother is busy," said Mrs. Malkin after a while. "I don't know how we manage to keep up every year. Children grow so much between eleven and seventeen, bless them."

"We're not really busy. Mostly we just get browsers." He helped himself to a few biscuits before he continued. "It doesn't really pick up until Quidditch season. Do you follow a team, Mrs. Malkin?"

"I used to when I was a girl, but I simply don't have the time any more."

"I like the Surrey Selkies. A lot of people don't because they've never been to a World Cup. But they're a really consistent team. They have good solid players and they've come up with some spectacular moves. The only reason that they aren't recognized is because the more popular teams copy them. Adam Culvert was the one who really developed the….Wronski…Defensive…" Peter trailed off as he realized that Mrs. Malkin was no longer listening. Her eyes were glazed over as she held a tea cup halfway to her mouth and muttered something that sounded like "knitting" under her breath. With a sigh, he sent a glance at the mouse, wondering if it had been driving to boredom too. It was a surprise to find Chocolate Biscuit not only awake but watching him, as if waiting for him to continue. He scooped up the mouse and cuddled it gratefully. The movement seemed to startle Mrs. Malkin out of her reverie.

"Oh dear, look at the time." She hustled to her feet and cleared the table with a couple flicks of her wand. A few circly motions and a rather sharp jab produced a salt glazed mug full of cricket wings. "There you go, love. Give your mother my regards. I must get back to the shop." With that, she hurried out.

It wasn't that he didn't know anything, Peter thought as he went out into the sun splashed alley, it was just that he didn't know _big _things. Most of the things he knew were little tidbits, like little shiny bits of tinsel that no one cared about after the holidays. It was fun to know them, though. He loved to pick out the little details that no one else had noticed. Still, it seemed like there was a reason no one noticed them. As if the details weren't important.

"You'll listen to me though, won't you, CB?" he asked the mouse. Chocolate Biscuit squeaked as if to say yes and scampered up Peter's arm to rest on his shoulder. Peter giggled as the small furry body tickled his neck.

"Here, that tickles." He removed the small creature from his shoulder and smiled. "But I need to hide you. Mum won't let me keep you if she finds you." A new problem presented itself. He wasn't wearing anything with pockets. Well, the mouse was small enough that he could close his fingers over it a little more then halfway. So maybe if he rested his almost closed hand against his stomach, it would be enough. If he went straight up to his room after giving her the cup, it might just work.

Finally he had a pet that was all his own. Oh, they had a cat at home, but she was old and grumpy and liked sleeping more then anything else. They had an owl too, but he was only a loaner from Eeylops. Chocolate Biscuit was all his. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad going to Hogwarts now.

He soon arrived at the shop and went in. Quality Quidditch Supplies was surprisingly full for this time a day. A flock of what looked like second years huddled over the pin bin, searching loudly for their favorite teams. Thankfully there was no one he knew, so he made his way over to the front desk where mum was talking to a middle aged wizard.

"Well our best is the Shooting Star, but since it's premiering it's a little over five hundred galleons. We have a fine selection of Cleansweeps. They may not be the absolute best but they were the broom of choice for the 1958 World Cup."

"1961," Peter said, setting the cup on the counter. "1958 had Comet Chasers." He then tried to get behind her to go for the door that hid the stairs, but she put a hand on his shoulder. Mother gave him a brief 'we need to talk' look, before turning back to the customer.

"He's probably right. Our Peter seems to thrive on little details." She said it with pride and Peter felt his chest warm. If nothing else, mum always appreciated him.

"Smart lad," said the middle aged wizard impatiently. "But I'm not looking for anything league level. I just need something simple for the company team."  
"Then I suggest either a Darter or a Hummingbird. We have a full display over there," Mother said gesturing. The wizard nodded and ambled over to have a look. Customer gone, mother turned her full attention on him. Suddenly a small frown creased her face. Peter gulped. Did she notice the mouse? But mother only licked her thumb and whipped a smudge off his cheek. Peter's heart returned to its normal rhythm.

"How is Adeline?" mother asked.

"Fine, I guess," Peter said with a shrug. "We had tea... and she said to give you her regards."

"Mm. Well mind the store for a little while, okay, love?" She took the cup of cricket wings from the counter and sighed down at them. "I have to go make some more Sluggish Snitch Solution, we're nearly out."

"Can't I go up to my r…room first?" Peter asked, all too aware of the furry warmth pressed against his palm."

"No you may not," Mother said, giving him a firm look. "And when I'm finished, you are going to get rid of that mouse." Peter choked. How did she always know?  
"But, Mum! It's a magical mouse!" Peter protested as she started to walk away.

"No means no, Peter. Now, tend the counter."

The middle aged wizard was back, clutching a Hummingbird like it was a firework. Peter could have told him that it was a bad turner and that it was right uncomfortable to sit on, but sulkily didn't. The man paid for his broom and a copy of _The Easy Guide to Catching Quaffles _and was on his way. Peter sighed and let Chocolate Biscuit loose on the counter. He knew the mouse wouldn't chew any brooms. He could teach it not to. When mum said no, though, she meant it. Dad was the only one that overruled her… Pity that he didn't like mice either. Hated rodents of any kind did his dad. Peter rested his chin on his fist and watched Chocolate Biscuit scamper about, sniffing the air excitedly. Why, he would bet everything that Dad hadn't even met a good, decent rodent.

The second year pin browsers came over, and stood for awhile, gabbing about his pet. Chocolate Biscuit put on quite a show for them too, gamboling around the table, rolling over like a dog, chasing his little pink tail. But all too soon, the older children grew tired of the game, paid for their pins and left. Chocolate Biscuit seemed tired too and curled up cat-like in a little patch of sunbeam.

Peter sighed heavily. Minding the store was so dull. He would rather be up in his room, reading an adventure or sketching or something. His room was his favorite place in the house. It was only in there could lose himself in a wild fantasy and forget he was just plain old Peter Pettigrew. Just plain old dumpy little Peter. Up there he could pretend he was a world famous wizard with scores of friends.

Suddenly the shop door opened and Peter looked up, glad at least for something to do. His pleasure was short lived however as he saw the only other person close to his age who lived in the alley. He was a second year Ravenclaw named Johnny Bannon, with mouse brown hair swept up in a cowlick and a snaggle-toothed smile that could frighten a toddler at fifty paces.

Johnny glanced around the shop, probably looking for signs of parents. Peter immediately placed his hand over Chocolate Biscuit and not a moment later; Johnny came sauntering up to the desk.

"Hullo, Lumpy," the boy said, resting his elbow on the counter and grinning. "'What are you doin' today?"

"Minding the shop," Peter said, glad for once he was doing so. Not even he could fault him for that.

"Oh that's right. Little Lumpy has to mind the shop. Must have something to do with that big spot of brown on your nose." Johnny said with a leer. Peter felt his face heat. He would dearly love to tell him what for and send him out in tears. He could always try of course, as long as he didn't mind getting the stuffing beaten out of him. Suddenly Johnny's eyes narrowed.

"What's that you've got under your hand?"

"N…nothing," Peter stammered, quickly closing his hand completely around the mouse and trying to pull it to safety. Johnny's hand slapped over his.

"I don't think so, mate. Show us what you have."

Peter frowned and started to unclench his fingers. The tone of Johnny Bannon's voice left no room for argument. Either he had to show him or get severely beaten later on. Then the door opened behind him and Johnny immediately snapped his hand back.

"Oh, hello, John," said mother, coming to stand beside Peter. "What have you been up to?"

Peter took a step closer to her and couldn't help but smile. That was his mum. Always knew when to come and save him.

"Nothing much, ma'am," Johnny said with a sickeningly sweet smile. That was the main problem right there. Johnny was always the perfect picture of behavior around the adults. Mum and Dad both dearly loved him and more then once, Peter had had to endure a tea or supper with him.

"You're looking a bit peaky, ma'am, if I may say so. You shouldn't be working so hard."

"Ah, bless you, but I could do with a bit more work around here. I rather enjoy it," She gave a small sigh and a tired smile. "As long as I don't have to brew a potion.

"I can make it for you, ma'am," said Johnny with a small bow. "I got top marks on my potions exam. On every exam actually, except for History of Magic…"

"Is Binns still teaching that?"

"Yes ma'am," said Johnny with a sort of grimace. Mother rolled her eyes.

"I doubt that man is _ever _going to retire."

They continued to talk animatedly about Hogwarts. Peter had the uncomfortable feeling that he was listening to some inside joke. In the very least, it distracted Johnny. Peter pulled Chocolate Biscuit to him and turned his palm up. The mouse blinked at him sleepily, then curled up into a furry little ball and promptly fell asleep. Peter stroked its back with one finger. The front door clattered open and a wave of young voices broke over the shop. By the look of them, Peter would have guessed fourth or fifth years. As usual, they all gathered around the Shooting Star first, oohing and ahhing and wishing they had enough money.

"Well, John, it was nice seeing you," Mother said, putting on a professional smile. "Now why don't you and Peter go out and play?"  
"Aw, Mum, do I have to?" Peter whined as she dropped some knuts into his free hand.

"Yes. You've been inside all day." She kissed his forehead and gave him a smile. "Don't worry. You'll have lots of fun, I'm sure. Now, your father has to work overtime so we'll most likely have a late supper, but don't stay out too late."

"Yes Mum," he intoned as she brushed his hair from his forehead.

"Comon' Peter," Johnny said, starting for the door. It took a gentle but firm push from mother to get him going. With a defeated sigh, he began to follow the older boy out the door.

"And don't come back with a mouse!" she called right before the door swung shut behind them.

It was evening in Diagon Alley. The sun was red and beginning its slow descent. There were still quite a few people left, wandering the narrow street. Most of them however were probably looking for a floo queue that wasn't backed up out the door.

* * *

Peter watched them as he sat slumped outside of Scrally's Games and Hobbies; sweat still trickling down his neck. He had spent four whole hours being beaten at every game from Wizard Chess to Madam Mim in Muggle Land. Playing with Johnny always made him feel flustered and the more flustered he got the more stupid mistakes he made. Somehow, though, he had managed to keep Chocolate Biscuit hidden, finally resorting to hiding the mouse in the bottom folds of his shirt. He had a bit of a breather now, though. Johnny was still inside, talking in a goofy sort of way to a pair of third year girls who giggled a lot.

With a small smile, he unfolded the mouse from his shirt. Chocolate Biscuit's fur had been severely mussed and it poofed up, making the mouse look rather like a dandelion seed. The creature gave him an annoyed look. Peter giggled and scratched CB's head.

"Sorry about that, but if Johnny sees you-"

"Sees who?" said the boy from directly above him. Peter jumped and tried to hide his pet, but it was too late. Johnny reached down and plucked the mouse from his hand.

"So this is what your mum meant," Johnny said, holding the struggling mouse by its bald tail.

"St….stop! You're hurting him!" Peter cried, struggling to his feet. Johnny smirked.

"Aww, is poor little Lumpy concerned over his little pet?"

"Give him back!" Peter pleaded, holding out his hands but knowing the older boy probably wouldn't.

"Give him back!" Johnny mimicked in a high-pitched voice, tossing Chocolate Biscuit into the air and only just managing to catch him again.

"Don't!" Peter squeaked. "Stop! I…if you don't- I…If you don't, I'll-" But what he could do, he didn't know. He couldn't tell Mum and Johnny was at least a foot taller then him and stronger too. Johnny sniggered and dangled the terrified mouse high above Peter's head.

"What are you waiting for? Come get your mouse!"

Peter danced on his tiptoes trying to reach his pet, but Johnny always snatched it away when he got too close. Grunting, Peter jumped and managed to brush CB's fur. Johnny pushed him back, causing him to stumble and nearly fall. Frustrated tears burned the back of Peter's eyes as Johnny began to laugh. He knew that crying would only make things worse, but he couldn't help it. Johnny would probably really hurt Chocolate Biscuit if Peter couldn't get him back.

"Is the little fat boy blubbing?" Johnny cooed. "You know, I should really do you and your Mum a favor and get rid of it for you. Maybe I'll just drown it."

"No!" Peter yelled, going after him again. Johnny avoided him nimbly and his grin widened.

"Or maybe I'll just crack its skull open. Ever seen mouse brains, Lumpy?"

Peter lunged at him. Johnny only laughed harder and began to run, calling:

"Catch me if you can!" over his shoulder. Peter scrabbled after him, running as fast as he could. It was all he could do just to keep close. Fortunately, Johnny soon ducked inside the used bookstore where at least he could be cornered. Peter picked up his speed and stumbled inside. Unlike Flourish and Blotts which was light and airy, the used bookstore was dark and cloistered. The only light came from the floating candles that seemed to sputter constantly and whatever sun managed to get through the grimy front window. The shop was filled with rows upon rows of bookshelves with narrow aisles that twisted crazily throughout the shop, stretching on far longer then they should. Only brave witches and wizards came in here because it was quite easy to become lost in the dark maze of books. There were even nasty rumors that a pack of students had come in here to do some research and were never seen again.

Peter began to wend his way through the aisle third from the right, completely unafraid. He could find his way around this place blindfolded, which he very nearly had to do anyway. He and Johnny used to play here all the time when they were little. It was fun back then. They would spend hours looking for books or listening to Mr. Singh's spooky stories. Sometimes they would even go on hunts for the lost research students who they pretended had become a tribe of cannibals that wore nothing but the pages they tore out. Then, last year, Johnny had gone to Hogwarts and everything changed. He had always been a bit bossy, but when he'd come home for the winter holidays he'd changed into a full blown bully and Peter didn't know why.

"Who are you?"

Peter looked up as Johnny's snide voice drifted through the air. Another voice murmured an answer that Peter couldn't quite catch. It was almost completely dark now that he was in the store proper. A single candle sputtered overhead, dripping wax onto the carpet. It didn't matter, though. As long as they kept talking, Peter would be able to find them. Excellent hearing was another useless talent of his. In this instance, though, he was rather glad of it.

"And what are you doing in here?" Johnny asked, bossily.

"Reading," said the other. Their voices were coming from the left. They sounded a bit too close to be in the Ancient Charms section and a bit too far to be in the Fairly Odd section, so they must be either in the Truly Terrible Transfiguration section or the Magical Creatures one. Since Johnny adored being clever more then anything else, Peter crept as silently as he could to the Magical Creatures section. Where else would one take a mouse?

He reached the aisle quickly and was pleased to find himself coming up from behind Johnny. A tired looking boy wearing a worn jumper sat at the end of the aisle, facing the Ravenclaw. Two candles floated near him, casting light on his pale face and the huge tome he held on his lap.

"Don't get cheeky with me, runt," Johnny growled. Even though Johnny must have looked intimidating in the half light, the other boy didn't so much as blink. Peter admired his courage and reminded himself that he would need to pluck up some of his own if he wanted to get Chocolate Biscuit back. One of Johnny's hands was lose at his side, but the other was clenched around something.

Peter slunk forward, making only the barest of sounds across the thick carpet. He had come right up behind Johnny when he suddenly realized that the tired boy was looking straight at him. Peter froze, heart thudding in his ears. The boy opened his mouth, maybe to warn Johnny, maybe something entirely different, either way Peter couldn't take the chance. He snatched Johnny's hand and desperately tried to pry his fingers open. The older boy shrieked, wrenched his hand out of Peter's grasp and whirled to face him.

"Who-!" Then, clutching a hand to his chest. "Bloody _hell_Pete, don't _do _that. You nearly gave me a heart attack!" For a moment, Johnny seemed like a friend again. As much as he knew it wasn't real, a part of him really wanted to believe it.

"Can I have my mouse back now?" he asked timidly.

"After a stunt like that? Not bloody likely. I think I will squash its brains out." Johnny tightened his fist.

"No!" Peter yelled grabbing Johnny's hand again and scrabbling to pry his fingers open.

"Let go of me, Lumpy!" Johnny snarled, trying to yank his hand back. There was only one way to make him let go. Peter jerked Johnny's hand closer and bit the older boy's wrist as hard as he could. Johnny yelped and a white shape fell from his open hand and rested motionless on the floor.

"CB!" Peter started to bend to pick up the creature. Johnny's hand shot out, twisted into Peter's collar and pulled him upright. The older boy's face was completely lost in shadow, but Peter didn't need to see his eyes to know he was beyond angry.

"How dare you! Filthy fat little slob!" Johnny spat. "I am going to make you regret that!" Johnny pulled the fist of his free hand back and Peter automatically sucked in his breath, knowing Johnny was aiming for his stomach. Suddenly a pale hand clamped over Johnny's wrist.

"Don't," said the tired looking boy. Peter stared at him, completely astonished. Didn't he know that Johnny could, and probably would, break him in half? Johnny seemed to realize this too and laughed.

"Right. And a little twig like you is going to stop me." Johnny lurched forward slightly, like he was trying to punch, but his arm didn't move. Twice more, the twelve-year-old seemed to fail in breaking the younger boy's grip. Peter wasn't sure what to think. Was Johnny just playing with the both of them or was the tired looking boy really that strong?

"Hey! What do you think you're playing at! Let me go!" Johnny was trying to sound angry, but there was an obvious quiver in his voice.

"Let him go first," said the other boy calmly. For a moment, it didn't seem like Johnny was going to give in. Then, with an annoyed grunt, he let go. Peter stumbled a bit, absently rubbing the spot where the shirt had chafed him. The tired looking boy kept his grip on Johnny's wrist, though. In the candle's flickering half light, it seemed to Peter that the boy's fingers were tightening. Johnny yelped suddenly and Peter shouted out:  
"Hey!" before he thought about it. The tired looking boy snatched back his hand like he'd been burnt. Johnny stayed for a moment longer, nursing his injured wrist, then brushed past him, nearly knocking him down and disappeared into the darkness of the store. Peter stared at the tired looking boy who was holding his own wrist as if it pained him.

"Sorry," said the boy, sounding a bit strained. "It's just--" A shudder passed over the boy, is if he'd just stepped into a cold draft.

"It's just what?" asked Peter.

"Never mind…" said the boy with a wave of his hand. Then he pointed at something on the floor. "Is your mouse all right?"

With a gasp, Peter lurched down and scooped Chocolate Biscuit into his hand. His small pet was completely still. Peter's stomach did a queasy sort of flip and he gently prodded the mouse's limp form.

"C...Chocolate Biscuit?" he whimpered. "W…wake up. Come on, little mate." The other boy had come up to Peter's shoulder and was staring down at the mouse as well.

"It's all right. He's just dazed." The boy put his fingers near Chocolate Biscuit's mouth. "See? You can feel him breathing." Peter followed the boy's example and felt the barest whisper of breath brush across his fingertips.

"He'll be coming around soon, now," the boy said. Peter stared hard at the limp little pile of fuzz in his palm. After what seemed like forever, the mouse twitched slightly and raised its small head. Peter let out a long shaky breath, not even realizing he'd been holding it, and looked gratefully up at the other boy.

That was twice in one day he was saved by people he didn't even know.

"Thanks a ton for everything. Johnny can be a real pill sometimes."

"So I saw," said the boy, going back to his large book and pulling it onto his lap. Peter sat beside him, folding one leg underneath him and stretching out the other. Chocolate Biscuit scampered up his arm and once again rested near his neck. The mouse's warmth comforted him somewhat, but didn't entirely get rid of the knot in his stomach.

"I don't know what I'll do when I get to Hogwarts," he said with a sigh. "Johnny's the only one I know but he says I'll be on my own. He says I'll never make it into Ravenclaw with him. I don't really want to, though. Mum would be proud of course but I don't think I'll fit in. They're supposed to be clever and I'm not really. Definitely not Slytherin either. It's supposed to be a good house, but you have to be from a really powerful family to get anywhere. Mum says there are a lot of bullies there too. So I guess it's a toss up between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Which do you…" Peter trailed off as he looked at the boy and saw a pained expression on his pale face. Somehow, Peter must have said something that had upset him. Maybe his family was in Slytherin…or maybe he was just as uncertain himself. Or maybe he was just tired of hearing Peter talk. Mum always said he needed to learn to talk _with _people, rather then _at _them.

"Er…My name's Peter, by the way. Sorry if I offended you or something."

"Remus. And you didn't offend me at all," he said with a small frown. "What makes you think you did?"

"You looked sort of upset."

"Oh, don't mind me," Remus said with a distant sort of smile. "Today is just not a good day. I need to get home soon."

"So why don't you?"

"Dad is trying to get a job somewhere in the alley. I told him I would wait here until he finished."

"Good luck," Peter said, shifting slightly. "A few weeks ago, they were hiring like mad for the school rush. They won't be now with the start of the term only a week away."

Remus looked so distressed at this news that Peter couldn't help but feel bad.

"They'll probably start again before the winter holiday, though," Peter said reassuringly. Remus gave him a tight smile, but said nothing. The silence stretched on. There had to be something to talk about that wouldn't end up upsetting him. Peter absently glanced over at the huge book sitting in Remus' lap. It was black and was in surprisingly good condition considering the yellowing pages that Peter could glimpse just below the cover. Written across the top in flowing silver script were the words: _Werewolves: A History in Fact and Legend._

"Oh, you like werewolves, huh?" Peter said. Remus jumped like he'd been startled and quickly hugged the book to him, like he was trying to hide the title.

"N…no. Not really- I-- I was just sort of bored, and-"

"It's all right," Peter said, getting heavily to his feet and glancing over a nearby shelf. If he remembered right, and if it hadn't been sold, there was a really neat book on werewolves that he and Johnny had read once. Scared themselves positively stupid, too. "Some people think it's weird to like werewolves, but I don't."  
"Y…you don't?" asked Remus.

"Not at all." Peter pulled out a small leather book entitled: _Consent or Cursed? _and slipped it back again. Where was it? "I used to be really into vampires two years ago," he said absently, standing on tiptoe to get a better view of the higher shelves. "Was all I could talk about. Drove my parents absolutely batty. Then Dad had enough and took me to St. Mungo's- he's a janitor there, you know. Anyway, there was this poor bloke there who had just gotten bitten by a vampire. It was pretty horrible." Hmm. _Werewolves of Wales._ Nope. Still not it. Maybe Mr. Singh had sold it.

"But you don't really like vampires, do you," said Remus softly.

"Well I'm not very likely to go up and shake their hands, am I?" Finally Peter spotted it, just above his head to the left. With a grunt he pulled it off the shelf and absently stroked the dragon hide cover with a finger. The title was etched into the scaly green surface. _Those Who Hunt the Hunters. _

"Have you ever heard of Brutal Brian?" asked Peter, turning to face Remus again and carefully opening the book.

"No."

"Well, he was the most celebrated wizard in his circle. They used to call him Wolf's Bain." Peter grinned as he came to his favorite section in the book and started to flip to the absolute best page. "Old Brian could kill a werewolf as easily as flick his wand. During his time, he killed over three hundred werewolves, and not just in Britain either, but all around the world. Then one day he just vanished into thin air and no one ever saw him again."

Ah, there. His favorite scene. It was a full two page illustration. Brutal Brian stood facing the werewolf, hunter silhouetted against the full moon, his dark cloak blowing in the wind. The monster approached, snarling. Peter turned the book around so Remus could see, intently watching the other boy's face. It was gross, yes, but absolutely brilliant. The growling intensified and Remus' cheeks lost what color they had left. There were several sharp clicks as the magical crossbow fired itself and a sharp, inhuman cry split the air so loudly that Peter jumped. Remus started like he'd been struck, his head jerking to the side and his hands clenching into tight, white-knuckled fists.

"I say, are you all right?" Peter asked. From the book came a series of low pitched whines as the injured werewolf tried to get away and the thud of boots on hard earth as Brutal Brian moved in for the spectacular kill.

"Stop it," said Remus in a voice that was almost like a growl itself. Peter tried to fumble the book shut but it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground, landing open at another of Brutal Brian's exploits. A werewolf howled loud and lonely into the night. Remus reached over and snapped the book shut, glaring at it with a strange sort of light in his eyes. Chocolate Biscuit started to tremble against his neck. Peter took an unconscious step backwards, bumping into the shelf. Remus glanced up at him, his face was calm but there was something in his eyes that pinned Peter to the spot.

"Are you scared of me?" again, the boy's voice was soft, but it was a dangerous sort of quiet. Peter was struck with the sudden urge to run and hide. But any sudden moves and he was sure this strange boy would be after him.

"N…no," squeaked Peter, slowly inching away. Remus stood bolted to his feet, his expression suddenly livid.

"What! What's wrong with me? Just because I'm different doesn't mean I'm not human!" the boy snarled.

"I…I know," Peter stammered, absently reaching up and putting a protective hand over Chocolate Biscuit. What in the world was he going on about? Human or not, the boy was defiantly loopy. Peter wasn't sure if he liked him very much. Suddenly Remus slapped his hands over his face, curling his fingers in so hard Peter could see little spots of blood well underneath his nails.

"I'm sorry," said the boy in a hoarse voice that was further muffled by his hands. "It's getting late and it's getting harder to- to think straight." Remus pulled his hands away, abruptly seeming much older then eleven. "Please don't be scared of me… I won't hurt you. Please…"

"I'm not," said Peter, more out of fear of the boy blowing up at him again then any real truth. Remus was mad. Completely and utterly mad. He would much prefer to be with Johnny. Sure, Johnny was mean and hurtful, but at least one knew where one stood with him. Remus looked up sharply and Peter braced himself for another bout of madness. Nothing came, though. Instead, the boy remained fixated on the dark alley between the shelves. Peter stared along with him, straining his eyes to see. Mr. Singh melted from the shadows like a ghost, his twisted cane (shaped like a twining cobra) tapping heavily against the floor.

"Good evening, Mr. Pettigrew," the old man said, his leathery face breaking into a small smile. "And you too, Mr. – ah - Lupin, was it?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus.

"Ah. Well you two better scurry on home. You'll show him the way, of course, Mr. Pettigrew."

"A…all right," said Peter, more then a little wary at roaming through the dark alleys alone with someone like Remus Lupin.

"Then it's all settled. Now, you two run along. Wouldn't want to get caught in the dark, now would we?"

"What did he mean by that?" Remus murmured as they began the dark journey back to the front of the shop. "H…how late is it?" He sounded frightened. Maybe he was afraid of the dark. If that was so, though, what was he doing in _this_ place?

"I don't expect it's _that _late. It's probably twilight or thereabouts." Everything in Diagon Alley closed up around twilight. Except, of course, The Leaky Cauldron. They soon reached the entrance and by the gray light that managed to seep in through the mucky windows, Peter could tell he had guessed the time right. Peter sighed as he stood out in the open air. It felt nice to be outside after having been in that stuffy old store.

"I...I have to find my dad." Remus seemed positively terrified. Peter looked around. The streets were almost completely deserted.

"I'm sure your dad is probably in the Leaky Cauldron." Then, in an effort to put the boy at ease said: "It's not too bad 'round here at night. It's a full moon tonight and it'll be rising any minute now. We should have plenty-"

"Where's the Leaky Cauldron?" Remus interrupted, seeming even more frightened then he had been before and now angry as well.

"Th…that way," Peter stammered, pointing to the end of the street.

"You have to get my dad. He's tall and thin and he has a mustache. Now go. Run as fast as you can."

"Look, why can't you-"

"_GO!" _Remus snapped, shoving him so hard he nearly fell over. Peter scrambled upright and ran for it, pounding blindly down the street. He wanted to go home but Quality Quidditch Supplies was in another direction and he didn't want to pass Remus again. Oh, why did he even go out today? He should have just stayed in his room.

After what seemed like forever, he finally stumbled through the door of the old pub, lungs near bursting. Some of the patrons gave him strange looks as he entered. Most of them, however, didn't even look up from their drinks. That was perhaps a good thing. Strange people came to the Leaky Cauldron after dark, Dad always said. All he had to do was find a tall thin man with a mustache, and then he could go home.

It was harder then he thought. There were several fat mustached men sharing a drink and roaring in German. A thin mustached man sat shivering up at a table by the fire, but had to sit on five books just to be level with the table. Peter nearly ran into a tall, thin, mustached woman with a full beard to match. She gave him a jolly look as he inched past her and even offered him a pepper imp she'd fished from somewhere in her beard. Peter politely declined and scuttled past her.

On the other side of the woman was a shadowy wall lit sparsely by old rusty lanterns. At a table in the corner there was someone that fit Remus' description almost exactly. Although it was hard to tell the man's exact height as he was slouched over a large black mug and staring forlornly into its depths. It almost seemed as if he was asleep.

Plucking up his courage, which was by now hanging from the thinnest of string, Peter started over toward him. If this wasn't the man then…then he'd just sneak off home. He knew the alley almost as well as he knew his own bedroom. He was a little nervous about using those secret routes at night but… Suddenly a hand clapped on his head. He jumped and there was a startled squeak near his ear as CB was nearly dislodged. Peter was too scared even to comfort his little pet. It seemed as if every part of him had frozen except for his legs which were beginning to turn wobbly.

"I wouldn't, lad," said the owner of the hand. "He doesn't look like the kind who wants to be bothered." The voice above him was friendly enough and, turning slightly to look better behind him; Peter saw the man's kind brown eyes matched the tone in his voice. Even better, pinned to the man's black robes was a shiny badge that read MLE. Magical Law Enforcement. The man turned Peter to face him, placing both hand's on Peter's shoulders.

"Isn't it a little late for you to be out?" the man asked. Peter bristled a little. It wasn't _that _late. Before he could speak up to his defense, a blood chilling scream rolled in from outside, making the hair on Peter's arm stand on end. As the scream went on it began top twist and stretch until it was almost a howl. Almost as soon as it had started, the noise drifted into the night. It was then; Peter noticed how quiet the room had gotten. He shivered, the stillness being somehow more frightening. Licking his dry lips, he tried to think of something to say.

"Sounds a bit like a werewolf, doesn't it?" he managed to squeak. All it once, it seemed, everyone turned toward him and Peter flushed a little at the attention. The room burst into life, as loud as it had been quiet before.

"It does…" said the bearded witch. It was as if someone had thrown a rock at a bee's nest. The room burst to life, as loud as it had been quiet before. People jumped from their chairs like their robes were on fire.

"—best if we kill it!"

"Getting out of here! Move--!"

"Fresh werewolf claws are the best!"

A swarthy wizard, hurrying to the fireplace, barreled past Peter, nearly knocking him to the floor. The MLE steadied him with one hand.

"All right there, lad?"

All Peter could do was nod. Satisfied, the MLE shoved Peter behind his back and looked over the room.

"Everyone calm down!" shouted the MLE. Then louder. "I SAID, CALM DOWN!" No one seemed to hear him. Peering around the man's lanky frame, Peter saw a middle aged witch begin to open the front door. In an instant, an oak wand appeared in the MLE's hands and with a hard wave. The door ripped out of the witch's hand and slammed shut. The room grew quiet again as everyone turned to stare at him in shock. Peter blinked up at the man, a little surprised himself.

"Everyone need's to keep their heads. We don't know for sure _what _is outside, until I can be certain it's not a threat, no one is leaving out that door-"

"Look you-!" said a deep voiced wizard from somewhere in the crowd.

"By order of the Ministry of Magic," the MLE finished. That shut the wizard up. Within seconds the MLE had organized two floo queues and sent those who were staying at the inn up to their rooms. The remaining patrons he situated at tables far from the door. Then the man left Peter's side, striding across the room to have a low-pitched conversation with Tom the innkeeper. Though they were talking softly, Peter was fairly certain he heard the word 'Auror' mentioned.

Peter stayed where he was, unsure of whether to move or not. Even though he was fairly certain werewolves couldn't open doors. He was still a little nervous. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he glanced around, wondering if anyone had noticed him. No one had. It was as if he'd suddenly become invisible. Peter's gaze came to rest on the mustached man he'd tried to approach earlier. He'd collapsed on the table now, arms stretched in front of him, breathing deeply. He must have been asleep then. How _anyone _could have slept through the last few minutes, Peter had no idea.

Looking at the man reminded Peter of Lupin. He hoped the boy had had good enough sense to duck back into the shop once the howling had started. Though the boy had been a little loopy, so perhaps not. Peter had wasn't about to find Lupin's father now that everything happened. He just wanted to go home. But…maybe he could tell the MLE about him. No sooner then Peter had started toward the man, then MLE nodded to Tom and strode out the door, edges of his robes flapping.

Peter paused, once more unsure of what to do. Then with a shakey sigh, he pulled Chocolate Biscuit off his shoulder and cupped the small rodent in his hands.

"Should we go home?" Peter asked. CB wiggled his nose and glanced toward the door. Seeming to agree with him.

"Sounds good to me too," said Peter, tucking the mouse up in his hand. Lupin probably _had _gone back inside the shop. He wasn't as mad as all that. So there was no reason for Peter to feel guilty about leaving him. Besides, Peter had had quite a full day all ready and he was getting hungry. Dinner must be on about now and Mum said she would be making stuffed peahen tonight.

Pushing the twinge of guilt away, Peter got in the shortest queue for the fireplace. A kind witch let him in front of her and soon he had a pinch of glittering powder which he threw into the flames. Tucking the mouse even closer to his body, he stepped into the roaring green fire, calling out Quality Quidditch Supplies as he did so.

The ride was short and bumpy and Peter made extra sure that he got out of the grate in his room. If he tried to cross the living room with CB in his hand, Mum would be sure to know. He landed with a thump on some pillows in front of his fireplace, the wind of his entrance scattering a few drawing papers. Peter brushed off the ash as best he could while he went over to his bed and drew back the covers. After an anxious glance at the door, he gently placed CB on the pillow next to his teddy bear.  
"Now you stay put, all right?" he whispered.

"Jaams," the mouse said, mournfully. Peter blinked. He hadn't known it could talk too! A doubly magical mouse then. Although he wasn't sure what jams meant, he assumed the mouse was hungry.

"I'll bring you something after dinner," he promised, pulling the covers over the mouse's small form. Then he went out through the narrow hall and into the main room. Mother was sitting in the old rocking chair, keeping a close eye on the peahen as it slowly sizzled and turned in the fireplace.

"Wash up, dear," she said absently. "You should have walked home instead of taking the floo."

"I would have. But I think I think I heard a werewolf outside and--"

"Probably just the wind," she said, giving the peahen a little poke with her wand. "Hurry, now. Your father's just arrived."

Peter sighed a little and went to the washroom. Dad was in there, scrubbing the soot off his bony hands.

"Hello, Pete," Dad said with a wink as Peter dipped his hands into the basin of warm water. "Nice day?"  
"Pretty much…except for the werewolf."

"New story, old man?" Dad said, giving Peter a slight nudge with his elbow. "And what happens in this one? Do you save the day or get the girl or both?"

"There really is one!" said Peter earnestly.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Speaking of werewolves, did you know one was admitted to Mungo's today? Mad as a hatter she was. Kept screaming about continuing her race. Can you imagine? A werewolf as a race. More like a freak of nature if you ask me. As I was telling your Mum just this morning, Glenda, I says, what we need is to crack down on all these sub-humans flitting about. 'Course old Scubb disagrees. You remember him right, old man? Oldish chap? Keeps baby rabbits in his beard? Anyway, Scubb tells me…"

Peter continued washing his face, tuning his father out. He'd heard the entire story this morning when Dad told Mum. All except the werewolf part. Knowing Dad, he'd be talking about it all evening and probably in the morning too. Of course, if Dad ever found out about CB, he'd _really _be talking.

Hopefully CB was smart enough to stay hidden. As long as Peter kept his room clean, Mum wouldn't have to come in there and then she'd never know. Then he could sneak him out to Hogwarts and have his own confidant who never interrupted and believed every word he said. It was too bad he couldn't find someone human to do the same thing…


	4. Prelude: Remus

Band of Brothers  
Prelude  
_**Chapter 4**  
_**Remus

* * *

**

It was dark. Cold metal bars were pressing against his feet and down his shoulders and side. Voices whispered in the air around him, human voices…hard to understand…. He sniffed, but all he could smell was sweat, blood and metal. Even those scents were muted. Dull and distant, like the light at the far end of a tunnel. This was not the usual greeny smell. Where was he? Heart lurching against his ribs, he wrenched open his eyes and saw hands. Small, pale, human hands that had thin red stripes of blood slashed along the back. His hands. The beast had ignored the pain, but as he came back to his human mind, it was hard not to feel it. There was a deep gash in his shoulder he could feel rather then see, even as it throbbed and sent blood itching down his arm. Pain laced along his side as well, and the bite marks on his arms pulsed angrily.

Remus closed his eyes again, shifting slightly and whimpering. There was no getting comfortable though, the bars on the floor dug painfully into his ribs. Something heavy was around his neck, making it hard to move. Cracking open his eyes, he lifted the thing up to eyelevel. It was a muzzle. A solid iron muzzle with thick leather straps that were still looped around the back of his neck. It must have fallen off when he…changed. Remus tried to get it over his head but his arm felt like lead. Soon he gave up, letting the muzzle drop back to the floor with a loud clang that made him wince.

Opening his eyes a little more, it didn't take him long to realize he was in a cage. There was rough granite floor beneath him that ended in a sun-speckled grey wall that looked to be made of stone as well. Two men stood further down the hall, dressed in black and seemingly not paying attention. This was definitely not a familiar place. Remus knew he should care but he was too tired and couldn't think properly. Sighing he rested his head on the uninjured part of his arm and closed his eyes. The strangeness of the place wouldn't let him sleep, though so he just lay there and listened.

"So, Sarge, whatchu gonna do once we get off shift?" said one of the men.

"Dunno, Knobbs. Probably stop by at the Broken Drum for a bite 'fore goin' home to the missus."

"Yeah? I might stop in there for a pint or two."  
"What, this early in the day? They'll lock you up."

"Well, with the captain takin' his sweet time might be noon before we get outta here."

Booted feet shuffled across the floor as they came closer to him, but they stopped a good way from the cage.

"Whaddya reckon they'll do with 'im?" the one called Knobbs asked.

"They'll probably just take it to Mungo's," said Sarge, disgust heavy in his voice. "A fat lot of good that's gonna do. Time was when the wizarding world dealt with these creatures _right._"

"Thought all we did was kill 'em."

"Exactly my point. Everyone knows these half human types can't be trusted. They're all dangerous. Would kill you as soon as look at you."

"I dunno," Knobbs said. Booted feet came closer and a shadow darkened the gray behind his eyes. "This one looks pretty harmless to me."

"'Course it does," said Sarge. "Perfectly innocent 'til you find your throat torn out. Stands to reason." He sniffed.

"I s'pose."

From down the hall came the click of a door being unlocked and then someone was coming across the floor purposeful strides. There was a violent rustling of cloth and Remus was pretty sure the two men had stood tall in a hurry.

"Captain!" they said, almost in unison.

"Good morning, Sergeant, Constable. Where did you put the lad?"

"We haven't moved 'im, sir," said Knobbs, sounding confused.

"Didn't move--? Merlin's beard, it's nearly ten! How long has he been in there?" Someone, probably the captain, knelt by the cage and began fiddling with the lock.

"He's been in there since we wrestled him in last night," said Sarge. "Here, you're not going to let him out, are you?"  
"Bloody damn right I'm going to let him out."

"But, all due respect, sir. He's a…you know…werewolf," Sarge said.

"He is also a little boy who has probably been through more hardships then you can even dream of," said the captain fiercely. The lock came off with a click and immediately crashed onto the stone floor, then the cage door was ripped open, squealing loudly in protest. Remus winced as the sounds hammered through his sensitive ears and made his head throb.

"It's all right," said the captain softly, even as gentle fingers undid the muzzle from the back of Remus' neck. "No one here is going to hurt you." Remus tried to tell him he understood, but the only thing that came out was a muffled sort of sound that wasn't really a word at all. He managed to open his eyes just a little as the captain helped him out, letting him it with his back against the cage.

"'S cold," Remus muttered. The captain chuckled though not unkindly.

"Must be with no clothes on."

No clothes…? Oh…right. His clothes tended to rip when he changed. What didn't come off he ripped away with his teeth, desperate to bite…to tear…. Remus forcibly shoved those thoughts away. He was concentrating on those thoughts so hard that when the warm fabric dropped around his shoulders, he jumped.

"Sorry. Did I manage to snag you?" said the captain, pushing the cloth away from his more injured shoulder. "That's a pretty deep gash there," the captain said as he wrapped another bit of cloth tightly over the wound. "But that should hold the worst of it until we can get you some professional care. Can you walk?"  
Remus tried to shake his head, but wasn't even sure if he did or not. In any case, the next thing he knew he was wrapped securely in the cloth and being lifted against the captain's chest. He snuggled closer reflexively, resting his ear against the man's chest and hearing his heart beat. The man began to walk; his steps smooth and even. Though still in an unfamiliar place, Remus knew he was safe and allowed himself to fall asleep.

For a while after that, he existed in a hazy dream state, not sure what was real and what was going on in his own head. At one point, he was almost convinced he was in some bizarre muggle freak show where men had bunny ears and a tired old witch in a bedraggled hat told patrons which floors to go to. But he must have been dreaming it for a second later he seemed to be lying on a bed in a quiet room.

Turning his head, he saw the captain in a nearby chair, slouching on a table with his head buried in his arms so that all Remus really saw of him was messy brown hair that stuck up in the back. The man was snoring lightly and Remus absently wondered how long he'd been here.

From his right came a soft whimper, like a dog in pain. Remus looked and saw a woman in the bed across from his. She looked young, but her eyes were tired and her dark matted hair was shot through with gray. Scratches that looked only a few hours old crisscrossed her face and traveled down her neck. She was the same as him. She even almost…smelled the same. Smiling, she reached out for him, pale hand trembling. He reached for her as well and though they were too far to touch, there was an understanding that was more then words. But then he closed his eyes to blink and forgot to open them again.

* * *

Fresh sheets underneath him, a comfortable blanket on top to take off the chill a pillow that was a bit too starchy and didn't quite smell like home. Remus let his head sink deeper into the pillow, his eyes wanting to rest but his brain rebelling into wakefulness. The brain was, unfortunately, winning. It didn't hurt so much today…and he figured it must be daytime because it was so light out. It was probably morning though. Usually by afternoon the sun would be streaming into the cottage window and warming his face, making it even more impossible to stay in bed. 

But...as his senses came into focus one by one, he realized that something was drastically different. It was so…quiet. Usually he could hear the birds singing and the rushing of the little creek that was only a stone's throw from the cottage's ivy-covered walls. A bit unnerved, Remus opened his eyes, instead of a warm brown roof; saw a cold white ceiling high overhead. His flannel pajamas that Dad usually dressed him in after a change and become a cotton night robe with chubby pink elephants on the sleeves.

Trying not to panic, Remus squinched his eyes shut and thought hard, trying to remember just what had happened. The times before and after the change were always so murky. Where had he been that morning? Dad…Dad had wanted to go look for a job…and Remus had gone with him because they were going to have to stop by the cottage that night anyway. Then dad had gone off and left Remus to his own devices and he'd wandered around a bit then…then…then found that old bookstore and… and then what? Oh, right, met that boy- The fat boy with the pointed nose— Who had shown him horrid pictures. And then they'd left the store and it was twilight—and… and he'd sent the boy away-

Remus' throat went dry as he realized what must have happened. They must have knocked him out somehow and sent him…here. He'd been discovered. His heart beat against his throat. Dad said that something truly terrible would happen to him if other wizards knew what he was. Dad always told awful stories about what people did to werewolves that had been discovered. He had to get out of here! Remus opened his eyes to make sure the coast was clear. There was no one in the room. Although the only other bed was crinkled, as if someone had lain there not too long ago. Throwing off the covers, Remus bolted upright.  
Just at that moment the door opened and a black robed wizard came in, balancing two trays laden with food and large frosty goblets. Upon seeing him, the wizard gave him an easy smile that went all the way to his gleaming brown eyes.

"Glad to see you're awake," the man said, setting one tray on the visitor's chair while arranging the other on a little table. Remus relaxed a little. The man looked…familiar. More importantly, he didn't seem to be here to execute Remus at all. Maybe…he didn't know?

The man set the table around Remus' lap, then took up the other tray and plunked heavily in the chair. Not quite sure what to say yet, Remus looked at his own tray. Roast beef and mashed potatoes, both smothered in gravy, a small pile of green beans and in the goblet, it smelled a little like cider. The best part of the meal, though, was the large slab of chocolate sitting just to the left of his plate. Mother would never let him _near _this much chocolate at home. And it was wizard chocolate, too.

"Dig in," said the man who had all ready taken a bite out of his own slab. Remus took a tiny nibble at his own hunk of chocolate, feeling it melt on his tongue and slide magically warm down his throat. But it didn't do anything to untwist the knot in his stomach.

"What's wrong?" the man asked.

"This isn't a last meal, is it?" Remus asked, the words making the chocolate taste sour on his tongue. The man looked surprised at the very thought.

"What do you…" Then he seemed to understand and he smiled gently. "No. No one is going to hurt you, Remus. I promise."  
Now it was Remus' turn to be surprised.

"How did you know my name?"

The man shifted uncomfortably a moment, smile wavering. Then he shrugged a little.

"I'm Magical Law Enforcement. It's my job to know a little bit about everyone." He didn't seem to be telling the whole truth, but Remus didn't want to call him on it. The whole truth was probably something he didn't want to know anyway.

"You're the person that bought me here," Remus muttered, suddenly remembering. "The captain."

"Captain R. F. Potter at your service," he said with another easy grin, then his eyes narrowed and his face grew very serious. "I'm sorry what my men did to yesterday morning. I thought they would have gotten you out as soon as you changed."

Remus shrugged a little, remembering bits of the conversation he'd overheard. They had been scared of him. He didn't blame them. It was understandable to keep a monster locked away so it wouldn't hurt anyone.

"I didn't…did I?"

"Didn't what?"

"Hurt anyone?"  
"No," said Captain Potter kindly. "But you did give me quite a scare. You charged me almost the second I stepped out of the Cauldron. Had to hit you a bit harder then I'd intended." The man gestured to Remus' shoulder. Remus rubbed it absently, remembering how badly it had hurt.

"It's okay. You were only trying to defend yourself."

"No, it's not okay. I wasn't expecting a werewolf and didn't go out as near prepared as I should have been. Still, the healers say your mending nicely, so I suppose it isn't all that bad."  
Remus nodded, trying to smile. It was obvious the man was trying to cheer him up and Remus felt bad about not being happier. While it was true he was glad that he hadn't hurt anyone… If he'd kept track of the time better, it never would have happened. He should have gotten his father as soon as he'd felt it was getting a bit later then it should be. They might have gotten to the cottage in time.

"I know you're upset," said Captain Potter. "But at least eat your chocolate. It'll make you feel a world of good."

Remus didn't think he quite deserved to feel a world of good, but ate the chocolate anyway. It did make him feel a little better and hungrier for the roast beef as well. When he'd finished off most of his plate, another thought occurred to him.

"Someone better tell my Dad that I'm here.

Captain Potter suddenly seemed uncomfortable again.

"Yes, well ah—he already knows." There was something about the tone of his voice that alarmed Remus. The captain was hiding something again, but this time, Remus wasn't going to let him get away with it.

"What's wrong with my Dad? He's okay isn't he?"

"He's perfectly fine."

"Can I see him?"

"That…could prove a little awkward," said Captain Potter, running a hand through his all ready tousled hair. Remus glared at him, waiting impatiently for the man to continue.

"Why?" he finally demanded.

"Your father is being…detained pending questioning."  
"What? Why? Is it because of me?"

The captain's sudden silence was all the answer Remus needed. He leaned closer to the man, nearly upsetting his small dinner table in the process.

"He wasn't the one who turned into a werewolf! I should be punished, not him!"

"The hard fact of the matter is you're underage. For something like this, your father has to take responsibility."

"But it's my fault I'm a werewolf in the first place! He was just trying to protect me."

"Remus…" the captain started, then stopped and sighed. "I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you. If it makes you feel any better, I probably would have done the same for my son."

"Then why don't you do something," said Remus quietly, fixing his gaze on the white blankets. He knew what the answer was…and he knew it was an unfair question to ask. But…

"It's out of my hands, lad. There's nothing I can do."

Suddenly everything seemed too much. Remus lay back on the bed, turning his head toward the empty bed opposite him. Just a short while ago, his mind had been full of so many thoughts it had been difficult to keep track of them all. Now he didn't know what to think. A tired kind of sadness rolled through him, filling the empty places in his mind and it took him a moment to realize he was crying. The tears made wet streaks down his face, but he made no move to wipe them away. He felt so lost.

Captain Potter took the tray away and hovered over him a bit. Remus could see the man's concern out of the corner of his eye and turned away so he wouldn't have to look any more.

"Look--" Captain Potter started. "I'll try to bring him up after questioning if I can. It'll be all right."  
How? Remus wanted to ask. But he didn't. Instead he made noncommittal sound and closed his eyes, hoping the captain would go away. The man did after a bit, the door swinging closed with a quiet rush of air.

After a while, Remus was beginning to wish he hadn't left. The utter silence of the room made it all seem so much sadder somehow. Worries and fears clouded his mind again and the more he tried to push them into the background, the more they wanted to surface. He sat up again, twisting the blankets around his fingers and glancing anxiously at the door. Had Captain Potter been telling the truth? Would he really bring Dad around after the questioning? What was going to happen to him? To them? How would mother handle it?

It was about half an hour before the door opened again. Remus looked up hopefully but it was only an old witch who looked like she had eaten one to many lemons. She gave him a disapproving frown and Remus had the feeling he was perhaps breathing too loud for her taste. That irritated him a bit but one look at her bulging scarred forearms scared him from commenting. She waddled to his bedside only long enough to drop a stack of magazines and a pack of cards on the night stand. Then she crossed the room swiftly to make the other bed. After another glance at Remus and an imperious sniff she left the room, shutting the door a bit too loudly behind her.

The magazines seemed to be nothing but the comings and goings of celebrities, so Remus played cards a bit first. The only thing he really knew how to play was solitaire—and only one kind at that. But the repetitiveness was calming. That was until he placed the two of clubs down a little too hard and the whole thing exploded making him jerk back and bang his head into the wall. The magazines seemed to be safer if not duller. All the stories were the same. Witch such-and-such being caught with Wizard so-and-so when she was married to Wizard whatsit. The photographs inside were grainy and a bit muddled. The pictures moved like all wizard pictures did but tended to gum up mid-gesture and freeze for a while…but that was because it was photography.

The use of cameras was pretty new in the magical world. Dad's old work was one of the first places to discover the muggle camera and they'd struggled hard to even take the pictures let alone make them move. Dad had loved the challenge though. He probably wouldn't have even left his job if Remus hadn't been a stupid little kid and gotten himself bitten.

Sighing, Remus put the magazine down. He tried to fall back asleep but couldn't keep his eyes closed and ended up staring listlessly at the ceiling. The silence was almost maddening. What if they decided to leave him in here forever? Remus gulped as the horrible thought crossed his mind. They'd probably chain him to the bed. Maybe even muzzle him…and he'd never get to see his parents again. But…but maybe that would be better. They would be able to get along better without him. Dad might even get his old job back. It was a miserable thought. He wanted his parents to be happy but he wanted to be with them too.

The door opened again, but Remus didn't look up. It was probably only the horrid nurse again. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, only to open them a second later when fingers brushed the hair from his forehead. Dad was standing over him, smiling softly. There were dark bags under his eyes and his breath smelled strongly of whiskey.

"Sleep well, little one?"  
"I'm sorry, Dad," Remus said quickly, sitting up. "I just lost track of time and I couldn't see the windows at all. I know I shouldn't have stayed in the back of the store only I found a book and--"

Dad's frown deepened. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was I--"

"No!" Dad said harshly, then he winced and massaged his forehead. "No, Remus," he repeated, voice quieter. "It wasn't. I…I fell asleep." Dad stared down at his hands. Remus hugged his knees to his chest. He knew what that meant. There was a silence then. Dad rubbed his hands up and down his face and stared at Remus with bloodshot eyes.

"What's going to happen to you?"  
Dad stood and crossed the room to stare at a painting where a handful of deer grazed in a field.

"I don't know," he said finally.

"Tell them it was me!" Remus burst out. "Tell them it was my fault!"

"Remus!" There was a warning tone to Dad's voice but Remus pressed on.

"It's true! I could have tried to wake you up!"

"And if you hadn't!" Dad bellowed his face suddenly crimson with anger. "What if you'd come in there and tried and the moon caught you! There would have been a massacre! They wouldn't be able to _magic _the blood off the walls!"

Remus curled in on himself, tucking his chin close to his chest. A great sob wrenched though him. He knew Dad wouldn't want to see him cry, but he couldn't help it. The sadness seemed to come from the pit of his stomach, shuddering through him and knotting his throat. He didn't know what to do! Everything was going all to pieces and he didn't know how to put it back together. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him close.

"I'm sorry," Dad whispered against Remus' hair. "I….I had hoped to spare you. I wanted you to have a decent life where no one would be afraid of you. Even if you did have to go live as a muggle."

"I could l…live as a mu…muggle," Remus said, sniffing a bit.

"They won't let you," Dad said gently. "Now that you're registered you aren't allowed to have any unnecessary contact with the muggle world. I'm sorry. My foolishness destroyed any kind of future that you might have had."

Remus was quiet. It didn't bother him that he had no future. Dad had been telling him that ever since he'd been bitten. It wouldn't be so bad living at home all the time with his parents. They always bought him plenty of books and it wasn't as if he had any friends to miss. Saying any of this to his dad though would only cause more shouting and right now Remus was content to stay in the comforting circle of his father's arms. There was a soft cough at the door. Remus looked up and saw Captain Potter standing just inside the doorway, watching them sympathetically.

"Mr. Lupin?" the captain said after a moment. Dad sighed softly and stood.

"I'm coming," he said. Then, smiling in a distant way he rested a hand on Remus' head. "The healers say you can go home tomorrow. I…I don't know where I'll be but I'll have some money sent up so you can take the Knight Bus home."

"S…see you," Remus said to fill the silence. Dad looked at him a moment longer, seeming to want to say something more, but instead he nodded and left the room.

"I know it seems terrible," Captain Potter said, resting his hand on the door, preparing to go out. "But even in the darkest times you can find happiness if you only look."

_Rubbish,_ he couldn't help but think. But Captain Potter had gone out of his way to be nice so Remus forced a smile and said nothing. Somehow he managed to keep the smile until the man left the room, then he dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling and tried not to think at all.

* * *

Sleep never came easy to Remus, especially not after a full moon. This night was worse then most. Four times nightmares sent Remus bolting upright, cold sweat trickling down his face. Not even those dreams could prepare him for the sight for what was standing over him when he woke up. 

The nurse from yesterday loomed over him, hands that looked like they could bend steel pipes with very little effort folded on wide hips. Remus flinched and drew the covers up to his chin on instinct.

"It's half past." Her tone was accusing as if he somehow changed time on purpose.

"Um…sorry," he hazarded.

"Don't be ridiculous, boy. Are you awake or aren't you?"  
"Umm…yes ma'am I suppose so."

"Then what are you doing still abed." She clicked open a pocket watch. "The day is nearly half begun all ready."

"Sorry," Remus said, scrambling from bed. He stared at her. She stared at him and suddenly he felt quite stupid, standing there in the ridiculous elephant patterned night gown which was entirely too girly to even be _thought _of as a robe.

"There are your clothes," she said, gesturing sharply to the bedside chair. "Although why your parents sent them up, I've no idea." She sniffed. "They aren't even suitable for the rag bag."

Remus felt his face heat as she held a shirt in the light between pinching hands. It did look pretty bad off. But mum wasn't that good with a needle and money was a bit tight. He dropped his gaze to the floor. This wasn't the first comment he'd gotten and people like this annoyed him. Just because someone was poor didn't mean anyone had the right to judge them. He knew what was coming next. She would say his father was a bum and his mother must be terrible around the house. Shaking her head, she folded it up neatly and put it back in the pile.

"Though I suppose you can't help it," she said. Shaking her head, she folded the shirt Remus looked up, a bit startled

"It's hard enough to see them living like this when their older. But when so young…" Her face crumpled a bit and Remus was surprised to see mist in her small eyes. All at once she seemed like an entirely different person. Remus shifted uncomfortably.

"I…it's not that bad."

"Well, get dressed so we can send you home," Ask she spoke she thrust the shirt at him. Remus took it quickly; half afraid she'd try to put it on him if he didn't. After a stiff nod of approval, the woman left the room, leaving him to dress in peace. He stared at it for a moment. Home… The word had never been so frightening before. Usually it was a place of comfort, where no one would stare at the scars. But now… Would mother be crying at the kitchen table, hands clawed in her hair, like she had when he'd first been bitten? Would she be smiling emptily? Would she even be there? And Dad…what had happened to him? Suddenly the door slammed open, making Remus jump horribly.

"Hurry it up!" snapped the nurse, leaning into the room. Apologizing almost on instinct, he began to take off his night gown before she'd even closed the door again. Once he was dressed and out in the hall, the worries were temporarily put out of his head.

It was hard to worry about anything when people kept staring and talking to each other in hushed voices, giving him a wide berth. Even the portraits that lined the wall whispered to each other as he passed. One craggy old wizard even flitting through about fifteen portraits just to watch him. Though he couldn't hear everything that was being said, certain things stood out. Words like "tragic" and "pity" and "so young."

Everyone knew now. Knew what he was. The thought was kind of scary. Remus suddenly felt quite small and afraid…like a little kid lost in a store. Thankfully though, the further they got, the fewer the whispers became. There was barely any as he crossed through the waiting room and by the time he was outside, there was nothing at all.

"Here you are," the nurse said, pulling a fistful of coins out from somewhere in her robes and counting them before holding them out to him. "Sixteen sickles."

Remus must have looked blank because the woman snorted and snapped: "Bus fare."

"Oh…" Remus awkwardly held out his hand and she dropped the coins in them. They were unpleasantly sweaty and he really didn't think he wanted to know why. Then the nurse took out a wand that looked eerily like a stubby, gnarled finger and thrust it straight out in front of her.

At first there was nothing then a humongous BANG which sounded like a hundred balloons being punctured at once and a big purple bus was careening down the sidewalk, straight at them. A girl screamed somewhere and he was only vaguely embarrassed to realize it had been him, rather distracted by the giant purple death was rushing him at blinding speed. He must have blinked because the next thing he knew, the bus's metal grill was pressing lightly against his nose and his heart was desperately trying to get out via his throat.

"You can't get in that way," said the nurse, sounding frustrated. Remus tried to say that he realized this but it came out as a sort of strangled.  
"Nng."

With a heavy sigh, she took his arm, guided him round to the back of the bus, paid his fare to the old man with thick glasses standing on the step and fairly shoved him on. Remus stared at the chairs that littered the bus, still trying to process everything.  
"You look a sight," said the old man. "But don't worry, lass, Old 'Ern will help you out."

Still a bit too dazed to correct him, Remus let himself be led to the front of the bed and be sat in a plush pink chair with embarrassing tassels. Ern gave him what he supposed was an encouraging smile.

"All ready, Simon," the man said. The driver, an ancient black man, cackled and shut the doors.

"'Bout time! Let's get goin' then!" he said in a thick accent that Remus couldn't place. Before he could even try, the bus took off with enough force to wrap his intestines around his spine.

* * *

Remus groaned; one hand against the wall to support himself. His legs felt like they were made of jelly and his stomach roiled uncomfortably. Never again. He didn't care. Not even if he was stranded. Not that he quite knew how one summoned the bus in the first place… 

A mother with a small daughter passed by him then and he must have been making a face for they suddenly quickened their pace. Sighing, he pushed himself off the wall, went into the building and somehow made it up to the flat without falling on his face or retching his guts out. Once at the door though, he hesitated, dreading what he might find inside. For one wild moment he considered not going in. Had the reckless thought of running away…hiding somewhere until… That's what stopped him. Until what? Until the next full moon?

"Opening a door can be quite daunting, can't it?" said a kindly voice behind him. Remus half turned to see a man standing by the opposite wall. He was an old man, older then the man on the Knight Bus probably, but somehow he didn't _feel _old. Maybe it was the twinkle in his deep blue eyes. Or the easy smile behind the snow white beard.  
"Especially when one doesn't know what's on the other side," the man continued, smile seeming to deepen.

"Yes, sir," Remus murmured, feeling his heart drop a little.

"You could stay out here, you know. I'm sure they'll open the door eventually."  
"Yes, sir…" he said again. That was true. He could stay out here. But…

"But…?" the man encouraged.

"But…I'll never get to the other side," he finished lamely.

"Very true," said the man, a laugh in his voice, but it didn't seem to be a mean one. With a resigned sigh, he set his hand on the knob and was mildly surprised to feel a warm hand on his shoulder. There were no words spoken and soon the hand was gone, but Remus felt strangely comforted. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Mother was sitting at the kitchen table and looked up as he came in. Her eyes, red with crying. Dad was there too, standing by the window. Both were staring at him startled, as if he was a stranger just come off the street. Then mother's lower lip trembled and she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands and sobbing his name over and over again. Remus tried to swallow the lump in his throat, closing the door firmly behind him before turning to his dad. Dad continued to stare, pale lips moving but nothing coming out.  
Then, came to him, crossing the room in great strides before scooping him up in his arms.

"Oh, Remus..." Dad said, in a trembly voice. He seemed to be crying too.  
"I'm sorry, Dad." Remus' voice broke and he buried his face into his Dad's shoulder to hide his own tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's all right. No, don't cry," Dad said, gently rubbing his back.

"B…but you're going so…somewhere t…terrible…aren't you?" Remus choked, fisting his hands in his father's robes. "The…they're going to s…send you somewhere beastly…"

Dad squeezed him tightly.  
"Yes… Yes they are…" Dad said. "But that doesn't matter…. Truly it doesn't." Remus pushed himself up, tears streaming down his face even as he glared into his Dad's eyes.

"How can you say that! It _can't _be all right! It _can't._"

"Yes, it is." And Dad was smiling. Truly smiling. Something Remus hadn't seen in a long time.

"B…but…" Remus said, feeling completely lost.

"Oh, my Remus, you're going to Hogwarts!" Dad said, voice breaking a little. "Hogwarts!" Dad hugged him tightly again, giving a shuddering cry. "Dumbledore just came by and told us… Not even a hello j…just…I look fo…forward to seeing your boy at H…Hogwarts!" Dad was really crying now, but seemed to be laughing as well.

"I…I don't…" Remus stuttered. He wasn't sure _what _to say. Everything was happening so fast.

"You have a _future, _Remus. A _future._"

Remus remained silent as he listened to his parents' sobbing. He hadn't had a future in so long he wasn't sure _what _to do.

* * *

Yay! Prelude is finished! Now on to their first year. 00 Save me.  
With a big THANK YOU and I LOVE YOU to mah Crystal bunnah! (You know who you are)   



	5. Year One: Of Mad Owls and Getting Ready

**Band of Brothers**  
Year One: The Madness Within  
**Chapter 1**_  
Of Mad Owls and Getting Ready_

_

* * *

_  
James had always been in love with the outdoors. When inside was nothing but floating feathers and glaring eyes, he enjoyed being out in the open meadow that surrounded the sanctuary. Even if it was just lying in the tall grass and staring at the sky. Most days he only knew the time by the position of the sun. So when grey light flooded behind his eyelids, he knew it was early morning. Very early morning. Far too early to even think about getting up. Grunting, James rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. But he was awake and there was no help for it.

Sighing, James opened his eyes and stared at wall. The wallpaper stared back at him, fuzzy brown lumps against a field of white. It didn't do any good not being able to make out the lumps. He knew what they were. Owls. Hundreds of pinky-sized owls papered over every spot of his room. Eyes constantly shifting. They used to hoot a lot too until James beat a section of paper with his shoe. Now they just watched and glared. James flopped over onto his back, staring at the ceiling and the soft light splashing onto it. He'd gotten up for a reason. A good reason judging by the vague sense of excitement that lumped in the back of his throat.

Today was…Monday. James bolted upright, hands clenched into fists, staring at the bed sheets without really seeing them. Monday! It was Monday! September first! He was going to Hogwarts today! Hogwarts! Hoggy warty Hogwarts!

Whooping loudly, James bounded out of bed, snatched his glasses and did the only sensible thing when one was awake and excited. He tore from the room, taking the cold basements steps two at a time until he burst out onto the first floor. James made a sharp turn, only losing a bit of speed and pounding up the twisted spiral stairway that went to the second floor. There wasn't much light yet up here, only the glow of a few dim candles so he didn't see the owl resting at the head of the staircase until he tripped over it. James yelped and went pinwheeling forward, slamming hard into the wall, nearly cracking his face into the mirror that hung there.

"Slow down, you little hooligan!" the mirror snapped. James pushed away from the wall and flicked the mirror irritably. But as he came to the door at the end of the hall, he did slow down. The owl head knob appeared to be asleep but gave an annoyed hoot when James turned it. Pushing the door open, he crept into the room, eyes fixed on the sleeping lump on the wide bed. As he came beside the bed, he hesitated, looking down into his Granddad's face.

"Granddad," he whispered. When the man didn't answer, James reached out with an index finger, intent on poking him in the shoulder.

"I must be dreaming," Granddad muttered before James even touched him. "For some reason, I feel like my grandson is in the room before the _sun has even risen. _But of course, it must be a dream because surely I raised him to be more considerate."

That was a good cue to leave. James knew he should leave and normally, he would. Only… Well… It was a special day.

"But…it's September first," James whispered, giving him a little prod.

"And the train doesn't leave until eleven," Granddad said, gently batting his hand away. "Go back to bed."

With a sigh, James turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Going back to bed wasn't an option. But maybe he could go outside and wait for Dad. Or mum! James' heart leapt as he started down the brightening hall. She hadn't said anything about coming…but it was the first! She had to come! This was too important for her to miss. James' train of thought was suddenly derailed as he stumbled over something in the dark.

Muttering under his breath, he crouched down to see what had done it and nearly fell over. An owl lay there, flat on its back, feet sticking up into the air. It must have been the one he'd tripped over. Judging by the state of the bird, it wouldn't have taken much to do it in. The owl's feathers were all over the place, sticking up in odd patches here and there. Its talons were twisted and barely looked strong enough to hold a dead rat. A patch of sloping skin and feathers covered the place the owl's left eye used to be. This hadto be one of Granddad's special care owls.

"Please don't be dead," James whispered, prodding it gingerly in the side. The owl didn't move. Biting his lip, James poked it harder. It had to be alive. It _had _to be. Granddad would go completely out of his tree if James had killed it. Even accidentally. Even though it had been the bloody bird's fault it was sitting on the floor at the head of the stairs.

"Comon', stupid!" James hissed, giving the owl another jab. The owl hooted softly, opening one large yellow eye. Suddenly the owl was after him, bursting toward him like a feathery canon ball. James shrieked, throwing up his arms to cover his face. Talons whispered across the skin of his forearm and there was a loud disappointed hoot. James didn't bother to look back. Scrambling to his feet, he hurtled down the stairs. If he could just make it to his room.

James just barely made it down the stairs, skidding across the bare patch of floor at the bottom and slamming into the wall. The front door opened with a heavy thud and James glanced toward the sound automatically. A loud screech warned him to look back at the bird. It was swooping down at him, sharp talons aimed right for his face. There was no time to move.

"IMPEDEMENTA!" a man bellowed. The owl looked startled, and it slowed down in the air until it was almost floating. The talons pressed lightly at James' cheek. Scowling, James shoved it away and turned toward the sound of the voice. Standing in the doorway was a lanky sort of man with light brown hair that stuck up in every direction.

"Nice shot, Dad," James said with a grin.

"Ruddy bird," Dad muttered, setting his wand on the small table near the door while he pulled at the strings of his travel cloak. Crossing the room, James picked up his father's wand, testing the weight in his palm. He used to steal it all the time when he was little. Now he had his own. Mahogany wood, eleven inches, phoenix feather core, so Mr. Ollivander had said.

From across the room came an annoyed hoot. James turned, and saw the owl hunched on the floor, feathers ruffled irritably. Grinning, James leveled Dad's wand at the bird, thinking of all the interesting things he could do to it were he allowed to practice magic.

"I don't think so," Dad said with a laugh, taking the wand from his hand and ruffling his hair. James stuck his tongue out at him.

"Shall we to breakfast, then?" Dad asked, heading toward the kitchen. Instead of following him right away, James went to the front door and stared outside. The sun was just starting to rise, peeking over the edge of a rolling hill. Squinting slightly, he peered up into the sky.

"What will you be having, Master James?" Dad called from the kitchen.

"Um…pancakes I guess," James said distractedly, still staring intently at the sky.

"Coming right up!" Soon there was the clacking sound of moving bowls. James put his hands on the door, fingers twitching slightly against the cool wood. He should go help. Cooking breakfast with dad was a tradition. But… he wanted to be here the moment she arrived.

"It's not going to cook itself, James," Dad called after a while. James started to turn away, but a black speck appeared just below the clouds. Heart hammering against his ribs, James pressed himself against the door, watching the speck as it came closer.

"James?"   
"In a minute!" James called back. It could be her! It could be! As the speck came closer, though, James' heart sank. What from a distance looked vaguely human now was only a small flock of owls, winging their way home. He sighed, leaning his head against the glass and picking absently at a splinter in the door. There were footsteps behind him then a soft sigh and warm hands squeezed his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" Dad asked. James looked up at him.

"Mum _is _coming, isn't she? She told you she would, didn't she?"

A frown flickered across Dad's face, but then he smiled and gently ruffled James' hair.

"Yes. If nothing comes up, she'll be here with bells on."

"If nothing comes up," James repeated, looking down at his feet. That's what she always said when she usually didn't show up. He hadn't seen her in a whole month and this was an important day…

"Don't worry," Dad said, pulling him into a hug. "It'll take a very big something to keep her away from you." James leaned into the hug a moment before looking up into Dad's face again.

"Does Mum _just _play Quidditch?" he asked. A funny expression crossed Dad's face.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's the off season, isn't it? And she can't be practicing all year…" He wrinkled his nose. "And why does she leave sometimes in the middle of the night?"

"And you should save your questions for Hogwarts," Dad said, flicking a finger over James' nose. "Now, come on, let's make those pancakes." In a fluid movement, Dad bent down and the next thing James knew, he was hanging off Dad's shoulder, staring at the floor.

"Ahh! I've been taken hostage!" James cried, struggling in his father's grip.

"Too right you have! And now you will be forced to make the best pancakes in the known world!" Dad said in a forceful voice, marching them toward the kitchen. Soon Dad had set him down on the kitchen table next to a large bag of flour and was waving a finger at him.

"Now you will pour the appropriate amount of that." He pointed to the flour. "Into there." He pointed to a mixing bowl. "Or you'll sorely regret it."

James saluted then began to pour the flour into the measuring cup. With a series of flicks with his wand, Dad bought the stove to light and bought the other ingredients onto the table as well. Suddenly James had an idea. An idea that Dad was in just enough of the right mood to let him get away with. Dad's back was currently turned as he riffled through the icebox for something. Grinning, James swept the mixing bowl to the floor. Dad turned at the noise. Then gave him a smile and knelt to pick it up. As soon as Dad's head was in range, James turned the measuring cup over. The flour fell onto his father's hair all at once, making a muffled poff when it hit. Dad stilled then looked up, giving James a narrow eyed look.

"Oops," James said, fighting to keep the grin from his face.

"Oops. I'll believe oops when you grow feathers."

"I did so mean oops!" James insisted, fingers creeping over to where the eggs were. "I forgot the—AHH!" his last word ended in a shriek as Dad lunged at him. Laughing wildly, James scooted back across the table.

"Oh no you don't!" Dad said, darting around the other side. Yelping, James tried to get away, but Dad's fingers were suddenly dancing across his ribs.

"AH! Stop!" James squealed, laughing and wriggling under the tickling fingers.

"Are you sorry?" Dad said, grinning down at him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" James squeaked, trying to push his hands away. With a laugh, Dad pulled James into a tight hug then bent his head and began to shake out his hair. James was caught between laughing and coughing as the flour feel on his face, covering his glasses.

"Well!" said an annoyed, yet slightly amused voice from the door. "You two certainly make a mess of things."  
For one mild moment it sounded like mum. Pulling away from his father, James hastily swiped a sleeve across his glasses… But it was only Grandmother standing in her nightgown, shaking her head yet smiling at the same time. Granddad stood behind her, openly grinning. In fact the only person who didn't look happy was the one-eyed killer owl from this morning which was currently perched on Granddad's shoulder.

"I suppose you have an explanation?" Grandmother pressed.

"Sorry, Marilyn," Dad said, running a hand through his hair and releasing another rain of flour. "We were…er…cooking breakfast."

"I can see what you were doing," Grandmother said, raising a single eyebrow.

"Just trying to save Hesta the trouble, ma'am," Dad said with a sweeping bow.

"Your famous charm won't work on me, Russell Potter. You can just clean this kitchen right up."

"Stung," Dad said, clapping a hand over his heart. James giggled and Grandmother's piercing gaze snapped over to him.

"And you, young man, to the shower with you."

"Aww, but Grandmam," James whined, fixing the woman with his best puppy dog look. He'd just taken a shower two days ago. He couldn't be _that _dirty.

"I'll not have you going to school looking like you rolled out of the pig pen. Now go," she said, flapping her hands. With a resigned sigh, James slipped off the table and headed drudgingly up the stairs to the bathroom, pushing open the door.

Once inside, it was an entirely different manner. Stripping off his pajamas he nearly fell into the wide bathtub and adjusted the tap. Pleasantly hot water shot out of the showerheads at either end and James washed as quickly as he could, making sure to get behind the ears. When he was done, he dove out and tripped into his clothes which had appeared neatly folded on the hamper. He took his time going out the door, though. If Grandmother thought he had been too fast, she would make him go back and do it again.

As he came slowly down the spiral stair, he heard their voices in low conversation drifting in from the kitchen. James paused on the step, listening intently. Usually when they talked that softly it was because they didn't want him to hear. And if they didn't want him to hear, that meant that he probably needed to know.

"…she said?" Grandmother asked, sounding a bit strained.

"Not much," Dad said. "Nothing to tell you anything definite. You know that." There was a slight pause.

"Now don't fret, dear," Granddad said. "I'm sure she'll tell us all we need to hear when she comes. She…is coming, Russell?"

"I hope so," Dad said softly. "For James' sake."

"Speaking of James—" Granddad started. "It's not that we don't love him."

"Because we do," said Grandmother hastily. "He's almost like a son to us."

"And we understand how important your careers are to you," Granddad added. "We have nothing but respect for what you and Sophie do…."

They trailed off. Pain ached up James' hands and he suddenly realized he'd come to grip the bars of the handrail tightly. Pulling his hands away he brushed his palms absently against his trousers and listened on baited breath.

"What are you trying to say?" Dad asked, sounding puzzled. There was another stretch of silence.

"We think you should move out," Granddad said.  
"What!" Dad spluttered, mirroring James' thoughts exactly.

"Move out. The three of you. Find a home somewhere close to civilization. Somewhere where James will have children his own age to play with."

Dad laughed a little.

"If this is about James finding friends, I'm sure he can find plenty at Hogwarts."

"It's not just that," said Grandmother softly. "We feel…we feel that it's time you two started raising James on your own."

"He's eleven," Dad said, sounding mildly irritated. "He's going to Hogwarts. How much more raising does he need?"

"A great deal more," Granddad said, sounding just as annoyed. "Russell, a boy doesn't stop _growing _at eleven. Hogwarts or no, James still needs his parents."

"Don't you dare insinuate we're not here for him," Dad fairly snapped.

"But not _enough_." Granddad pressed. "Having his parents come home to spend time with him shouldn't be a _treat_."

James stood without thinking, heart beating fast in his chest. They sounded like they were about to row. An unexpected surge of anger washed through him. They _couldn't _row! Not today. Today was his day! The big day. He was going to Hogwarts for the first time ever and they couldn't fight!

"Don't tell us how to take care of our son," Dad was saying heatedly.

"I will when you actually start doing it," Granddad shot back.

"Now stop it," Grandmother snapped. "This was supposed to be an adult conversation but if you two insist on sniping like children--"

"But Marilyn…." Granddad said.

"No, Herman. Besides, James should be out of the shower by now."

There was silence after that. The knot in James' stomach eased. At that moment, Grandmother was the best person in the world. Showing up too soon would look suspicious so James waited a moment before tromping loudly down the remaining steps, making sure he was grinning as he came into the kitchen. Dad, Granddad and Grandmother sat around the kitchen table, looking strained. As James came in though, Dad looked up and gave him a smile as false as James' own.

"Clean behind your ears?" Grandmother asked, giving James a pointed look.

"Yes, ma'am," James said, taking a seat by his father. There was another long silence. Granddad suddenly clapped his hands, making James jump.

"Well, who's hungry?"

Breakfast was simple with toast and eggs. Grandmother hadn't wanted to spoil his stomach for the grand feast he was to have later that evening. The strained small talk through the meal was even worse then the silence. James excused himself when he couldn't stand it anymore, escaping to his room. Flopping down on his bed, he automatically took the mouse cage off the nearby table only to remember it was empty. Sighing, James held the small cage to him, feeling an ache build in the center of his chest. Squeakers was gone, Dad and Granddad were fighting and Mum probably wasn't even going to show up.

James closed his eyes. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe when he opened his eyes the sun would still be down and he could start the day the right way. There was a whispery sort of noise James knew to be wings and a moment later, something settled on the bed next to his head. James turned his face, opened one eye and saw a single yellow eye staring right back at him. It was the killer owl from earlier.

"What do _you _want?" James grumbled. The owl hooted softly then bent forward and gently tugged at James' hair with its beak. It seemed to be an apology. As much as James wanted to hate the owl, he simply couldn't.

"You're not just trying to trick me are you?" he asked dryly, even though he didn't mean it. The owl ruffled its feathers indignantly, the effect making it look shabbier then it all ready was. James laughed softly, reaching up to stroke the owl's chest with two fingers.

"Just joking, mate. Just joking," he said.

"Glad to see you're getting along," Dad said from the door. James sat up and gave his father a half smile.

"Yeah. It isn't so bad."

"That's good," Dad said; crossing the room and reaching down to gently stroke the owl's back. "As your grandfather was going to give him as a gift."

"Him?" James asked incredulously. "Looks like he's been run through the mill a bit." The owl gave him an annoyed look.

"Mm," Dad said with a nod. "But according to your grandfather he's stronger then he looks and has quite a sense of character."

James thought a moment.

"Well, he seems quite mad and he's only got one eye. So maybe I'll name him Mad-Eye."

Dad laughed.

"Well your grandfather said his name was Argo, but I'm sure you can call him whatever you want." The owl hooted as if to say that Argo was quite decent a name, thank you very much. James grinned. This owl—Argo—wasn't really bad at all, was he? But he'd never replace Squeakers. James frowned a little at the thought. Poor little Squeakers.

He stared forlornly at the small cage still in his hand. It wasn't a cage really. More a little nest for Squeakers to curl up in at night. During the day Squeakers had always been with him, either in his pocket or riding high on his shoulder.

"You miss him, don't you?" Dad asked, sitting beside him. James nodded. Dad knew about Squeakers, of course. James always told him everything.

"It's all that stupid Black's fault," James said, vividly remembering the other boy's laughing face.

"The Blacks are a nasty lot," Dad said. "Muggle haters the lot of them and up to their necks in dark arts." Dad scowled. "Not that anyone's been able to prove anything." He shook his head and gave James a stern look. "You keep a good eye on the young Black while you're at Hogwarts. Understand? Don't turn your back on him for a second."

"I won't. Won't let him get away with… with what happened to Squeakers either."

Dad suddenly straightened as if he heard something. Taking out his wand, he made a little swishing motion and the door clicked shut. Then he reached in his robes and took out something which he kept fisted in his hand.

"I was going to save this until later. My mates and I would set it of in the common room at the start of every year, you see. To sort of consecrate it." As he spoke, Dad slowly unclenched his fingers to reveal what was undoubtedly a dung bomb. "However I think in this situation you might have to use it a little earlier."

James stared at him blankly. Dad grinned.

"Black's most likely going to be sorted into Slytherin," Dad said, patiently. "Rather difficult to get at without getting into trouble. As of right now though, you have a smart owl and a particularly smelly dung bomb at your disposal. All you have to do is drop one of these things to set them off…"

James suddenly got it, feeling his own face stretch into a grin to match his Dad's.

"Not that I'm condoning this, mind," Dad said, raising a warning finger. "But this is a special occasion."

A moment later, they were standing outside in the warm September morning, watching Argo wing away on his mission. James smiled, smelling the fresh air and feeling the sun warming his face. Suddenly it felt like it should again. Despite everything. It was September first and he was going to Hogwarts. Dad wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Well then, James old boy. It's time to get a move on. Let's--" But a loud _crack _behind them stopped whatever Dad was about to say. James turned at the same time his father did and saw a witch had Apparated there. A witch with shoulder length black hair and dancing hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles.

"You look like a couple of codfish," she said with a laugh, opening her arms. "Come here and greet me properly."

"MUM!" James cried, dashing into his mother's embrace and making her grunt and take a step back. But then she laughed again and her arms closed around him.

"You've got to stop growing or next time you'll knock me right over!"

"I've missed you, Mum," James murmured.

"I've missed you too, poppet. And to think you're all ready starting school." She slipped her hand under James' chin and raised his face to look up into hers. "But you'll have a grand old time."

James grinned.

"If every day is like today, I know I will!"

* * *

-kough- 

Yeah, okay. So originally this was going to have all four view points crammed into one chapter. Being as it's six pages long as is, I thought it would be wiser to break them up. But all four should consolidate into one chapter by the time they're actually together in school. And they will get there! Believe me! And stuff will happen! Important stuff! --waves arms--

And as of today:  
BOOK SIX IS COMING OUT IN TWO MORE DAYS!   
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

--kough kough--

Thanks to Crystal. I love you, sweetie!

And also to Rising Dragoness. (Can't remember your real name)

Anywhich

Onward and Upward!


End file.
